


AFTERMATH - TWO

by DustyP



Category: The A Team (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyP/pseuds/DustyP
Summary: CHAPTER TWO OF A FOUR PART STORY.
Relationships: Hanibal/Face
Kudos: 2





	AFTERMATH - TWO

PART TWO OF AFTERMATH (sequel to Outrage)

Out on the veranda, Face shifted uncomfortably, he felt too hot now. He’d asked Murdock to describe their present location, which the pilot had done in minute detail, even down to the oars in the small rowing boat. Now, as the sun became hotter, the faint, background noise of the water lapping against the wooden piles of the small jetty sounded very inviting, and the younger man longed to immerse himself in the cool clean water of the lake.   
“Murdock?”  
“Yeah Face?”  
“Could we go down to the jetty, I'm hot.”  
“Er... well, I suppose so,” said Murdock, glancing around to see if Smith were nearby. “Maybe I should go and tell Hannibal.”  
“No need,” smiled Face, “We’re not going to run away, it'll be cooler down by the water... Please,” he wheedled as he sensed the pilot’s indecision.  
“Okey-dokey,” said Murdock, getting up from his chair and going over to pull his friend out of his.  
He glanced round, hoping to see his Colonel at the window, but there was no sign of either the Smith or Baracus.  
He compromised by calling out: “Hannibal, we’re just going down to the jetty.”  
Then he guided his friend carefully to the steps leading down to the small wooden platform and breathed an inward sigh of relief when they stood safely on the sun-dried boards.  
Face lifted his head, breathing deeply of the cooler air sweeping in off the lake, listening to the soft murmur of the water lapping against the pilings and the creak of the rowing boat that his friend had described to him, rubbing against a post.  
Murdock stood quietly beside him holding firmly to one tanned elbow, enjoying the view out over the lake and wishing with all his heart that his friend could see it too.  
“Is the lake calm?” Peck`s quiet question took the pilot by surprise.  
“"Er...yes, I suppose so, there's a bit of a breeze, but not much.”  
“How about taking the boat out a little way?” asked Peck, “I’m sick of sitting around doing nothing.”  
“Well, I don't know about that....” Murdock hedged, wanting to please his friend, but mindful of his responsibility for his safety.  
“Aw, come on, Murdock, do me a favour...if the lake is calm, we both can swim and the others will hear us if we get into trouble.” Now the thought was in his mind, Peck was determined to have a trip out on the lake.  
Murdock pondered his options; what the Lieutenant said was perfectly correct and he did want to please his friend, but what would the Colonel say if anything happened.  
“You pull the boat so that I can step down into it, okay?” Peck said as if it had already been decided.  
“It’s all wet,” said Murdock hoping the thought of sitting with a damp behind would put Peck off the idea.  
“So what, I’ve got shorts on.” Peck was being stubborn and knew it, but suddenly, all he wanted to do was go out in this boat and no-one was going to stop him even if he had to do it himself.  
He put a tentative foot forward feeling for the edge of the jetty and Murdock sighed, surrendering with a good-natured smile. “Okay, Facial One, stay put a second and I’ll go get a couple of cushions, might as well be comfortable.”  
“Thanks Murdock.” Peck was jubilant.  
Murdock let go of his arm and waited a second until he was sure that Peck was steady on his feet, “Now don’t move an inch, promise? ‘Cos if you fall in, the Colonel will have my hide as a doormat.”  
“I promise,” said Peck, “just hurry up before the sun goes in,” and Hannibal catches us, was his other unspoken thought.  
Murdock leaped up the steps, running to the deck-chairs and plucking a rug and cushion from the pile beside them, glancing in through the windows in the hope of seeing either Smith or BA, but his luck was  
out, as neither man was in sight.  
Hurrying back down to the jetty, he was relieved to see the slim figure of his friend standing exactly where he’d left him.   
“Here we go, Face, “ he said and bent to tug on the mooring rope. In a very short time, he had spread the rug and cushion in the bottom of the boat and helped the blind Lieutenant to sit securely in the middle, before stepping down himself and fixing the oars into the rowlocks. Leaving the rudder out of the water for the time being, Murdock pulled strongly and soon the little rowboat was rocking on the soft swell of the open water.  
Peck lay back on the rug, his elbows resting on the thwart behind him and lifted his face to the sun he could only feel. Spreading his long legs to catch the tanning rays, he heaved a gusty sigh of relief.   
“Thanks Murdock,” he said softly, sunglasses turning towards the pilot, who was rowing slowly.  
“No sweat, Face, glad to help. You okay?” he asked tentatively. His friend certainly looked okay; the pale blue shirt was open to his waist, the sun glinting on the fine gold fuzz on his chest and his fair hair stirring in the mild breeze.  
The blond head nodded. “Yep, just wanted to do something else instead of sit and wait,” he paused, not wanting to spoil the moment by mentioning the reason they were all here.  
Murdock nodded, then realised his friend couldn't see the motion, so said aloud. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Then decided to shut up and let them both enjoy the peace and solitude.  
That solitude lasted for almost ten minutes, as the pilot pulled them in a slow circle around a small islet that was situated about twenty yards from their own jetty. The peace was abruptly shattered by the sound of an over-revved engine and a sleek, power boat bore down on the little boat, a crowd of laughing teenagers out for a thrill, crowded into the cockpit. The wash from their high-powered vessel sent the rowboat rocking dangerously as Murdock yelled at the reckless youths.  
Startled out of his half doze, Face sat up, clutching at the sides of the unsteady boat; his left hand missed its hold and he slid sideways just as Murdock attempted to straighten the oars. Peck's sudden weight against the side was enough to tip the balance and both men slid over the gunwale and into the cold waters of the lake .  
Murdock came up spluttering, his arms thrashing for control, he wasn’t a very good swimmer, certainly not as good as his companion and it took him a minute to get his bearings. He managed to tread water as he looked around for his friend.  
“Face,” he yelled frantically, moving towards the boat which was floating upside down.  
A swirl of water and a sleek fair head bobbed up a few yards away, coughing and spluttering as he got rid of the water he’d just swallowed.  
“Face. Oh thank God,” cried Murdock, putting out a hand to try and grab his friend, but the waves, small as they were, were just enough to push them further apart.  
Peck was completely disorientated, one second he was lying back comfortably, the sun warming his body; the next Murdock was yelling, the roar of a high-powered engine had almost deafened him, and he was suddenly dumped into the lake, struggling for air, the coldness of the water taking his breath away.  
“Murdock? Where are you?” Peck's voice was filled with justifiable panic.  
Up until that moment, he hadn’t realised his own danger, secure in the knowledge that he was with Murdock; he could swim and Hannibal wasn’t too far off. Now it was brought home to him with brutal clarity, just how vulnerable he was. Sure he could swim, very well, but as he could not see where he was going, he had no idea in which direction to swim. He trod water, listening for the pilot’s voice, feeling the chill of fear as tangible as the coldness of the water surrounding him.  
“I’m here, Face....just ahead of you,” the pilot’s voice was strangled and could hardly be heard.  
“Where? Murdock where are you?” Peck started to swim towards where he thought his friend was, hearing the near-panic in his voice and remembering that the pilot was more at home in the air, than he was in water.  
“Over here....Face!” Murdock was floundering, unable to get his long limbs coordinated. He made a lunge for the upturned boat and managed to snag a hold on it, then turned to look for Peck.  
His friend was a few yards away, his head turned away from Murdock and the pilot yelled again. “This way, Face...I`m behind you, hanging on to the boat...come on, this way.”  
He was relieved to see Peck had heard him and was turning his way. He kept on shouting to guide his friend and in a few moments that seemed like years to the gasping pilot, Peck was close enough for him to reach out and grab his shoulder and pull him to the side of the boat.  
“Thank God!” cried Murdock, his arm going round Peck's waist, determined not to let go until they were both on dry land again.  
Peck reached out, feeling for the boat and found a grip on the keel next to the pilot. “You okay, Murdock?” he asked.  
“Sure am, Muchacho...” the pilot gasped, “...now!”  
“How far are we from shore?”  
“Not too far,” said the pilot, measuring it and deciding that even he could swim the distance. “Think I can do it, how about you?”  
“Just point me in the right direction,” Peck wiped the wet hair off his brow, he’d lost his sunglasses when the boat went over and his gaze was slightly over the pilot’s head. At this reminder of his friend’s vulnerability, Murdock’s grip tightened fractionally around the Lieutenant’s waist.  
“Right. What about the boat? Should we try and re-float it?”  
Peck thought a second. “Could do, I suppose; it's light enough and hopefully not too full of water.” He back-paddled a little, “let’s both get a grip and when I give the word, heave. Okay?”  
“Whatever you say.” The pilot was sorry he'd made the suggestion now; he didn’t relish the idea of the boat turning over and hitting them both. If he lost the Lieutenant, the Colonel would be VERY mad, not to mention how he would feel himself.  
To his surprise, the small boat re-floated without a hitch as the two young men pulled with all their strength, then with a helpful boost from Peck, Murdock found himself back aboard the small craft, ankle deep in water.  
He lost no time in hauling his friend from the lake and they both sat, gasping for breath, glad to be in relative safety again.  
“Can you get us back to the jetty, Murdock?” Face asked, feeling totally helpless.  
“No sweat, Muchacho. After that little swim, I can do anything,” he paused, then added “well, almost anything. We’ve lost the oars.”  
“Oh GREAT,” sighed Peck. “I was hoping we could keep this little escapade from the Colonel.”  
“I second that, Oh Facial One,” agreed Murdock, not wanting to face his angry commander, or the burly sergeant.  
As they sat in the boat, water still sloshing about their feet and ankles, a sudden hail alerted them to a possible saviour.  
“Ahoy there...do you need a hand?”  
The query came from a red-faced man in a small rowing boat which had hove into view around the nearest point of the small islet.  
“Er...yes...we do rather,” came the upper-class accent from the pilot’s lips.  
“I heard that power boat,” the man pulled closer. “Did they run you down? They shouldn't be on this stretch of water. Those kids should be reported, they're a damn nuisance and dangerous.”  
“Not exactly...but almost,” replied Murdock, not wanting to listen to a tirade from the well-meaning stranger. He had his own plans for those kids... something which included boiling tar and feathers.  
“What can I do? Do you want to hop over here?”  
Peck looked appalled, although he was grateful to their rescuer, he didn’t fancy hopping anywhere, not where a stranger could see him fall, perhaps.  
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Murdock quickly, sounding quite sane - for a change, thought Peck thankfully.   
“If you could just catch our oars, there,” the pilot pointed to the oars bobbing merrily away from the scene of the mishap, “we'll be just fine.”  
“Oh...okay...if you’re sure.” The helpful stranger pulled expertly on his own oars in pursuit of the escapees.  
“That’s a bit of luck,” sighed Face. “Now we can get home under our own steam.” He paused. “We can, can’t we Murdock?”  
“Yes of course, we can,” but the pilot’s voice was thoughtful.   
“What’s wrong?” asked Peck quickly picking up on his friend’s unease.  
“Nothing really,” said Murdock hastily. “I was just wondering whether it was just luck he happened to be there, or?”  
A cold shiver which had nothing to do with the chill of his wet clothes went through Peck’s body. “You mean, he... he might be a plant?” Then he shook his head, trying to shake off the sudden foreboding. “Naw, how could he be? We didn’t know where we were going ourselves until just before we turned onto the Interstate,” he declared, dimly remembering the conversation in the van as he half dozed.  
“That’s true,” said the pilot, brightening up a little. “Of course, there must be some helpful people left in the world, eh Facie?” He slapped his friend on the shoulder, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere.  
“Of course,” smiled Peck, responding to the other’s mood. “WE help people, don’t we, HM?”  
“Well, we try, Faceguy, we surely do try.”  
Further conversation was halted by the return of the Good Samaritan, with their missing oars.  
After more conversation and a little help from their rescuer bailing out most of the ankle deep water, the two friends had control over their small craft again and after many expressions of thanks and goodwill on both sides, the two little boats went their separate ways.

When they reached their own landing stage, Murdock tied up the boat and climbed out onto the sun-baked wooden planks, then helped the Lieutenant out of the sodden boat.   
He looked at his friend, whose hair was plastered to his well-shaped skull, his shirt and shorts clinging wetly to his long limbs, then glanced down at himself and saw that he was equally as wet and bedraggled. No way were they going to be able to get away with their escapade unless they could sneak into the cabin, get dried and changed without either Hannibal, or B.A. seeing them.   
It was obvious that Face was having the same thoughts. “You reckon we can sneak back into the cabin, Murdock?”  
“Y’mean, sneak back into the dorm, past the Principal, get changed and down again without being spotted by the Big Guy?”  
“Yeah,” Peck had to smile at the conspiratorial tone of voice.  
Murdock’s face became as resigned as his voice. “Not a chance, Muchacho.”  
Peck gave a mock sigh. “Somehow, I knew you were gonna say that.”  
“Well, let's get you indoors before you catch a chill, which will be another black mark on my record,” said the pilot, taking his friend by the arm to lead him to the steps.  
Their heels had barely cleared the top wooden step, when a voice enquired silkily: “Now just where have you two been?”  
Murdock jumped and Peck froze at the dangerous note in the familiar voice.  
“Er....well...we...er...”stuttered the pilot, for once bereft of his usual speech.  
“Hello Hannibal,” Peck turned his head to smile in the direction of that commanding voice.  
“I’m waiting.”  
“Oh, that’s okay, no need to do that, we were just coming back to the cabin, weren’t we Murdock?”   
The pilot gulped and nodded helplessly, wondering if his friend could talk them out of trouble this time.  
“So I see,” remarked Smith, taking the chewed end of his cigar from his mouth.   
After he and B.A. had got back to the cabin after a brief reconnoitre, he had gone through agonies of anxiety and fear when he’d realised that his lover was missing, along with the chaperone, who was supposed to be looking after him.   
His common sense had told him that as long as Murdock was around, no real harm could come to Peck, but the men they were going up against were ruthless and clever, a dangerous combination for fit men, never mind one lone man handicapped with looking after a blind man.   
He hadn't seen the accident, just the boat coming back to the dock and even the relief of seeing his two junior officers returning, hadn't diminished his anger at what he considered sheer stupidity on their part; it had changed his normally cool detachment in a battle situation, to seething fury.   
Peck’s cheerful attempt to charm him out of the anger merely served to irritate the Colonel even more. There were times, thought Hannibal, that his lover deserved putting over his knee and given a sound spanking. Smith blinked at that mental picture and against his will, his mouth crooked at the edges as he thought that both of them would probably enjoy the mock struggle. It could not be considered seriously; to raise a hand against Face in anger, would never be contemplated by the older man.  
Murdock took heart from the slight lessening of his commander’s tense expression. He wasn’t afraid of Smith by any means, but the Lieutenant-Colonel had an acid and withering tongue, that could cut a man to shreds when he used it. The pilot also knew how much the older man thought of his companion and he HAD been in charge and allowed Peck to talk him into what, in hindsight, had been a foolish enterprise.   
Smith’s eyes were still cold with anger, but given the fact that the two younger men were safe and sound diffused his anger somewhat and he relaxed a fraction.  
“Better get indoors and out of those wet clothes,” he ordered crisply, “I’ll talk to you both later.”   
“Okay, Colonel,” a somewhat subdued Murdock answered, knowing that he, at least, had not heard the end of this particular episode.  
“Yeah, that’s a good idea, Hannibal, the wind is picking up. It's getting quite cool out here now,” said Peck, looking in Smith’s direction, mischievously acknowledging their frosty reception, but unable to resist teasing his lover.  
He simply couldn’t help it; his own relief at their safe return making him flirt dangerously with his Colonel’s temper.  
“Yes, it is,” Smith replied. “Quite cold.” With that he turned away to gaze out over the lake, whose waves were beginning to show small white caps under the freshening wind, as though to endorse his Lieutenant’s words. You tantalising little devil, just wait until I get you alone, was his helpless but hardly helpful thought.  
Murdock set off towards the cabin, unwilling to get into any more verbal acrobats with either of his friends. Even he wasn’t crazy enough to provoke an angry outburst from Smith, not in this particular instance anyway.  
He guided Peck towards the cabin, meeting a glowering Baracus on the way. The big sergeant opened his mouth, then shrugged, as the pilot help up a hand. “Okay...okay. we`ve heard it!”  
“Fools!” B.A. commented, but didn’t stop them as he continued on to stand by Smith.

Half an hour later, both men were bathed and getting changed into dry clothes. Murdock had guided his friend to the shower and put towels and bathrobe within easy reach, but prudently stayed within hearing range in case of emergencies. The pilot had thought that Smith might have turned up to help his Lieutenant, but when he didn’t, Murdock realised that the Colonel was very angry.   
He felt like a rebellious teenager, one half of him recognising that it had been a foolhardy thing to do, the other stubbornly insisting that they were both grown men and had handled the incident. Just by the skin of your teeth, his honesty forced him to admit.  
Murdock decided that he would do his best to make amends, he didn’t like the Colonel being mad at him, although it wasn't the first time and probably wouldn't be the last. He smiled as he also recalled all the times that the Colonel and Peck had argued, usually in fun, but sometimes in earnest. Despite their occasional disagreements, however, nothing seemed to come between his two friends for long. That was why they were perfect for each other, thought Murdock fondly, Peck flouted the rules and teased his commander - but never when the chips were down, and never in a battle situation.   
Smith had almost always allowed his lieutenant some leeway, even before they'd become lovers - he seemed to enjoy the verbal battles as much as Face, they stimulated each other, but he had never had cause to doubt that Face would follow orders. His second might disagree with a plan, especially when the Jazz rode Smith hard, but he would never disobey them.  
Murdock could understand why Smith was angry; his commander was worried about the current situation. The Team had never been quite so vulnerable as they were now; with one member of the Team blind, they were all handicapped.  
Murdock sighed, he would have to be more responsible, not let Face talk him into another situation that could turn sour. His lips quirked, that too was easier said than done, it wasn’t just for his fair good looks that made the silver-tongued Lieutenant the master of persuasion that he was.  
Speaking of which, Peck had been remarkably silent through their ablutions. Rubbing at his thinning hair with a dry towel, the pilot went in search of the Lieutenant.  
Peck was sitting on the side of the bed in his room, half dressed, wearing a pair of the new blue jeans Murdock had put out for him, a shirt lying beside him. His hands were lying listlessly in his lap, head bowed, his still damp hair flopping over his brow.  
“Face?”   
The blond head lifted a fraction and recognising the concern in his friend's voice, a half smile crossed the scrubbed-clean features. “Yeah?”  
“You okay?”  
Bare shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “Of course, takes more than a little water to...” He broke off and sighed. “Hannibal’s really mad, isn’t he?”  
Murdock sat beside his friend, putting a long arm around the slumped shoulders. “Yep, he sure is.” He gave his friend a comforting squeeze, “He’ll get over it, Face, he usually does.”  
“I didn’t mean to get him mad. I just wanted to do something...not just sit...”  
“He understands, you know he does. He’s - we’re all are a little tensed up right now, he’s not really mad at you, or me, just the situation.”  
“You think so?” Peck brightened a trifle.  
“I know so, Oh Facial One. You do too, really.” Murdock gave him another squeeze then got up, “Come on, get dressed and we’ll go face the music master, together.” He paused, his heart giving a twitch of compassion and pain as Face groped for the shirt beside him. He had to force himself not to help as Peck’s clever fingers shook out the garment and without too much of a struggle donned it and fastened the buttons.  
“There’s just one thing you have got to promise me, Faceguy,” he said, a shade too brightly to cover the thickness of tears in his throat.  
“What’s that HM? “ Peck asked, brushing his hair back. “Oh, pass me a comb, will ya?”  
Murdock rummaged on the dressing table and came back with a comb, putting it into Peck’s hand, as he replied. “You stand between me and BA in case that Big Ugly Mudsucker gets mad when you explain what happened.”  
“Me explain?” Peck grimaced “How did I get landed with explaining?”  
“Well, you are so much better at it than me.” Murdock said earnestly, “but just be careful what you say to B.A.. You know how mad he gets.”  
“I’m not buying this you know, Murdock, all this earnestness... you`re the one who gets BA mad,” he paused, the comb stilled as he remembered the times he had riled B.A. “Well, most of the time, anyway.” He combed his damp fringe back as he continued his warning. “Try not to wind him up, that way we both might get off lightly.”  
“Well, s’pose I could try,” the pilot didn’t sound too sure, but he was smiling again, picking up on his friend’s improving mood. “It’s just that my lips kinda flap and words come out...then BA gets mad, and ...and...”  
“And me or the Colonel have to cool him down,” rejoined Peck, as he finished slicking his hair back. “Here, stop babbling and give me a hand.”  
He was pulled boisterously to his feet and swept towards the door, “Righto, Lieutenant, but just remember... don’t rile the Big Guy.”  
Peck hung on to his friend’s arm, trying to stay on his feet, “I give up,” he muttered.   
When they got outside, Murdock saw that Smith was leaning against the low railing, cigar smoke trailing from between his lips, while Baracus, a pair of binoculars to his eyes, swept the lake surface and surrounding shore. Upon hearing the clump of footsteps on the board planking behind him, he turned, gave the approaching pair a thunderous glare then resumed his vigil without a word.  
Murdock sighed, but it was to Smith that he looked. He was considerably relieved to see that his leader’s blue eyes weren’t quite so cold as before, just a shade warmer than the Arctic Circle, thought the pilot and tentatively offered a smile.  
“How’s it going, Colonel?” he ventured bravely.  
Smith shifted his weight and folded his arms, ignoring the question “Now that you’ve both dried off, maybe you’d like to tell me what the hell happened out there?” He paused, waiting a second, then as his two younger officers shuffled their feet, he went on, voice hard. “Did the boat overturn? Is that why you’re both soaked? And more to the point,” his icy blue eyes held the pilot’s brown ones. “Why on earth, did you take Face out in a rowboat, when he can’t see what he’s doing? You were supposed to be sitting on the veranda, getting some sun.” His voice snapped curtly. “Well, Captain?”  
“I..er...I’m sorry Colonel,” the pilot began, shifting uncomfortably, “We were just getting some sun ...out on the lake...” he stammered, hating having the Colonel look at him like that. “Some kids in a power boat came too close...and..and..the wash knocked the boat over... but we were okay....got back in....and...and a man brought the oars...and .. and ...that’s about all.”  
“Oh I see!” Smith’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “The boat gets knocked over, throwing you and the Lieutenant into the water, you swim around, get back in the boat and a kind man, who just happens to be rowing past, brings you the oars, thereby getting a good look at the both of you. “  
Murdock`s eyes widened . “Oh no. You think it wasn’t an accident, Colonel?” he gasped.   
“Why should I think that, Captain?” Again that cutting sarcasm that all his men from the newest recruit to the more senior officers in ‘Nam, had come to dread hearing. It usually meant that they had let their commander down in some way. “We are fugitives, hiding out, being hunted by the military as well as Maddox and his mob! Why would I think it was anything other than an accident?”  
Beside the uncomfortable pilot, Peck shifted his weight. He, too, recognised that tone, the Colonel was still furious, but had it under control. Instead of feeling repentant, as he had done when he was younger and wanted to feel now, the edge in Smith’s voice sent his buried frustration at his own helplessness, soaring.  
“Don’t blame Murdock, Colonel,” he said crisply. “It was my idea.”  
Smith’s left eyebrow rose a fraction at the tone in his lieutenant’s voice. “Oh, and I suppose it was your idea to overturn the boat and get a soaking, too?” he enquired silkily.  
Peck’s lips tightened and feeling the slight tremble in his friend’s arm, Murdock hastily intervened. ”Oh no, Colonel, like I said...some stupid kids in a jet boat came out of nowhere, just when we were enjoying ourselves. Neither of us did anything to rock the boat....er...” he half-smiled, then gulped, deciding it wouldn’t be wise to try and laugh this situation off. “Right Facie?” He tightened his grip warningly, urging Peck to hold his temper.  
At the earnestness in his pilot’s voice, Hannibal’s lips twitched slightly, but he still wanted to know why his junior officers had behaved so rashly.  
“I understand that Captain, but what were you doing out there in the first place. I thought you both understood the dangers.”  
“We understand all right, Colonel,” Peck said abruptly. “What you don’t seem to understand is - I had to do something other than sit still and wait - wait for Maddox to pick up our trail; wait for some stranger to bump into me and wonder if he/she or it, realises I’m blind; wait for someone to point me in the right direction; wait for one of you to help me...wait...wait...WAIT.” His voice rose. “Well, I’m sick and tired of waiting. Let’s get this thing over with. I’m tired of hiding, tired of having to ask you to help; tired of being a burden, tired of listening for every noise, day or night; tired of being scared...”   
He stopped abruptly, horrified at his own outburst, of actually admitting he was scared. He lifted his head staring in Smith’s direction, trying to keep his mouth from betraying his own desperate need for understanding. “Let’s hear one of your plans, Colonel, let us do something.” He stopped, the silence almost tangible as his three comrades looked at him in surprise.   
Smith stared at his Lieutenant for a long moment as though gauging the level of his determination, then straightened from his position against the rail and came towards the two younger men.  
Nodding at Murdock, Smith took Peck’s arm. “Okay, Lieutenant,” he said quietly, all the anger draining away at his lover’s distress. “We will do something. I just want you to understand, you are not a burden - you don’t need to ask for help, or anything else. I thought we needed a break - all of us, Face, before we sorted Maddox and his cronies out. I see now, that won’t work. We can relax after we’ve waxed their butts, is that okay with you?” He slipped an arm around the shorter man’s tense shoulders and gave them a hard squeeze.   
Peck stood tense and still for another long moment, trying to regain some semblance of control, then abruptly he relaxed. His own sense of fair play and ordinary common sense, told him it was time to be sensible and not take the argument further into unknown and difficult waters. Besides, he didn’t want to add to the burdens that Hannibal was already carrying - for them all - but mostly for him.  
He nodded. “Yes, Colonel... that is okay with me.” His voice was steady.  
Murdock blew out his cheeks in exaggerated, but nonetheless heartfelt relief. “Me too, Hannibal.”  
Baracus who had turned to watch the little drama, grunted and turned back to his watch.  
Smith smiled. “Right then, let’s get started.” He turned slowly and with his arm still round Peck’s shoulder, led the way back into the cabin.

A couple of hours later, B.A. and Murdock returned from scouting out the area and checking on the helpful Samaritan, who had turned out to be just that - a helpful man with no obvious connection to any of the Team’s enemies.   
During their absence, Hannibal had taken the opportunity to persuade his lover to have a rest, as the younger man was still tense. Peck had agreed, providing that Smith stayed with him. He didn’t want the Colonel going off on the jazz, without any of the others there to help out. He wouldn’t put it past his commander's devious mind to leave him here and meet up with the other two somewhere else, by way of protecting him. Peck wasn’t going to have any of that, whatever had to be faced, they would meet it together; he wasn’t about to be left out. In this particular instance, however, he was mistaken, as Smith knew that his Lieutenant had to be involved if there was to be any future trust between them, both as comrades and lovers.   
They had sat together on the large couch, mostly in companionable silence, secure in the knowledge that they each had forgiven the other for the irritable mood of earlier. Smith’s long arm wrapped around his lover’s cotton-clad shoulders, mouth nuzzling at Peck’s silky hair, as they talked of their plans for the future, when they would be free of Maddox and his vicious gang of drug-pushers, rapists and killers. Quietly recalling some of the memories of their first weeks together as a couple, they’d whispered words that lovers say when they are trying to make amends; of love, reassurance and apology, until Peck yawned widely. His fair head settled onto the older man's broad shoulder as his tense body and anxious mind both relaxed under the gentle hands cradling his weary form.  
Smith held him, grateful for the moments of tranquil tenderness, which lately had become so rare, until the shadows swept across the room, signalling the approach of dusk.  
The red streaks of the setting sun were turning the clouds to rose-coloured wisps of cotton when they were again all gathered in the cabin.   
Cigar clenched between his teeth, unlit, Murdock noticed, Smith began to outline his strategy, which was simply allowing Maddox’s men to find them, instead of the other way round. Although Face tensed at the name, he didn’t speak just listened quietly. He was feeling more refreshed from his nap and the reaffirmation of his Colonel’s love. He was sitting beside Murdock on the couch, B.A. in the opposite chair with Smith standing between, pacing now and then as he voiced his thoughts aloud. Knowing their leader as they all did, none of the younger men were greatly surprised to hear his words.   
“How’d you plan on doing that, Hannibal? “ asked Murdock, with a quick glance at Baracus.  
“Well, I used the van phone to call Mario at the restaurant and asked him to have his nephew Vincento standing by.”  
“To do what, Colonel?” Baracus asked frowning, they didn’t usually involve outsiders, not if they could help it.  
“Because if it definitely was Maddox, or his men at the restaurant, they will be keeping on eye on Mario’s movements.” Smith paused, then added thoughtfully. “As a matter of fact, Mario told me he thought he’d seen someone hanging around, watching his place.”  
Face chipped in. “You're going to have Vincento lead them up here?” It was more of a statement than a question.  
“Right, Lieutenant. But not exactly here.” He paused, staring at Peck thoughtfully “You remember when we were up here last time, we saw that old house, at the other end of the lake?”  
Face frowned. “You mean the one standing in its own grounds, `bout an acre?”  
“That’s the one.” declared his commander.  
Murdock spoke up. “Is anyone living there yet, it was closed when we saw it?”  
“I had B.A. check it out earlier... care to enlighten us, Sergeant?” Smith invited.  
Baracus sat forward in his chair. “Yeah, man. Well, the house is still empty, has been for the past two years, owner just up and left when his marriage broke up. Went to live with his sister in Seattle, so the guy at the store told me. We can get in easy enough Hannibal... there’s a clear area of `bout twenty to thirty feet around three sides of the house, not as much as we’d like, but enough....” The big sergeant paused, then went on. “The fourth side fronts onto the lake, there’s a small dock and a boathouse. There’s an old generator in there, not working...and a leaky boat.”  
“Did you fix them, Big Guy?” asked Murdock, innocently.  
“Naw...I...” Baracus stopped, glared at the pilot, who swiftly smothered a grin.   
“Go on, B.A.” Peck intervened softly, giving Murdock a swift dig in the ribs, his quick brain already considering possibilities.  
“As I wus gonna say...” Baracus stopped and looked pointedly at Murdock, who pantomimed zipping his lips shut.  
Smith intervened before war broke out. “What did you find, B.A.?”  
The sergeant glared at the pilot, who immediately squirmed behind Face, huddling close. The smaller man sighed deeply, but didn’t move away, everything was getting back to normal.  
“The house is in a mess...broken old furniture, nothing of value, looks like some kids have been camping downstairs. Not recently tho`...” He looked across at Smith. “It's defensible, Hannibal, not ideal, too many ways to get in...but there’s only one staircase and a pull-down metal ladder which leads up to the roof.”  
“Okay.” Smith chewed the end of his cigar. “Well, we’d better get this show on the road. I’ll set the wheels moving in LA, get Mario to send Vincento to the house - meanwhile...” He turned and smiled at his three men, “we’d better go and set up in the house, er what`s it called, B.A? I seem to remember it had a name of some sort.”  
The sergeant glanced up at his commander. “The owner called it Eden`s Gate, but the locals call it Devil`s Dock,” he said simply. “Guess it didn’t work out for him.”  
The other men were silent as they contemplated another human’s lost dreams, until Peck voiced all their thoughts. “Poor man, thought he’d found his paradise and it ends up empty and alone.”

An hour later, the Team had packed up their meagre belongings and were in the van heading for the dilapidated house at the far end of the lake. They got there just as true darkness fell and set up their gear in the upstairs rooms by the light of three large lanterns, purchased for just such an emergency.  
Peck had been led carefully up the stairs and ensconced in a rear room by Smith, he was sitting on a pile of sleeping bags, as the others moved briskly around him. Although he kept his thoughts to himself, he was fretting inwardly at not being able to help, but his tightly clenched fingers and stiff shoulders spoke volumes to his three comrades who knew the signs all too well.   
Murdock tried to distract him by telling him what they doing, in a variety of different accents and Hannibal promised to help him get the layout of the place when they were set up, which seemed to somewhat mollify the Lieutenant.  
Smith was as good as his word; after they’d set up the sleeping bags and other essentials for a night’s stay in the old house, he took Face by the arm and walked him through the rooms they intended to use.   
Peck concentrated, counting the number of steps he used along the long corridor to each room leading from it. He also insisted on Hannibal taking him down the stairs and describing the layout of both the upstairs and downstairs, pointing out that he would feel more at ease having knowledge of where they were.  
Hannibal went along with him, knowing that this was true, he even took the younger man to the metal ladder and up onto the roof, to make sure he knew they had a way of escape from the inside of the house, should it be necessary.  
“What’s it like, up here?” Peck asked.   
“Well...” Hannibal looked round, although it was dark, the moonlight was bright enough for him to describe what he saw.  
“It's a flat roof, there’s a low wall about three foot high around the inner edge, then it slopes downward slightly to where the guttering begins. The chimney stack is at the far end.” He paused, “oh, looks like an attic window set roughly in the centre...have to have a look at that in the morning.”  
“Is there any way down, Hannibal?”   
“Not that I can see,” said the Colonel. “Probably a drain pipe or two,” he joked. “We’ll check that out in the morning as well,” he added quietly.  
Peck nodded. “Yes, that would be best.” He shivered suddenly. “It's getting cold Hannibal, let’s go down.”  
They carefully retraced their steps to where the sound of voices indicated the presence of the other two men, busy wrangling about who was going to light the camping Gaz stove. Immediately Peck felt warmer, for no matter the location, or how long they stayed, for a night, a week, or years, where his three friends were, he was safe and at home.  
A little while later, sitting on their bedrolls around a single lantern, fed and watered sufficiently for comfort, they discussed their next move.  
They had decided to telephone Mario before they went to sleep, to allow him time to set the stage at his end. Vincento was to proceed cautiously as though he was trying to lose a tail, but had to be careful not to disappear too soon after leaving a signpost to the Team’s whereabouts. Mario was certain his nephew could be trusted to do exactly that.  
Meanwhile the Team would set up their own network of signals and traps, this was not going to be easy, or safe for any of them. Smith was certain that Maddox would want them alive in order to torment them, but it was always a possibility that one of his gunmen could act hastily.  
The Colonel had had second thoughts about bringing Face with them, he really wanted his Lieutenant out of harm’s way and though he knew Face needed to help, he wasn’t at all sure about exposing his vulnerable partner to unnecessary peril. They hadn't really spoken of it openly, but were all quite aware, that although Maddox wanted revenge on every man in the Team, he seemed to have singled out Peck as a target for his own special vengeance. Hannibal tentatively suggested that Murdock and Face should go back to the cabin as a second line of defence, but Peck shook his head decisively.   
“No. I'm staying here.” He said tightly, bracing himself for an argument. Then added quickly, “besides, if they don’t see all of us, they’ll think it’s a trap.”  
“Er...Facie,” declared Murdock deadpan, “it is a trap.”  
“I know that - you know that - we know that,” said Peck patiently, “but we don’t want THEM to know, do we?” He turned to his Colonel sitting close beside him. “No Hannibal, you know it won’t work. Petersen knows I'm blind. If they don’t see me, they’ll know I'm hiding out somewhere and just sit-tight,” He paused. “And if you're all honest with yourselves, I'm not the only one who is tired of sitting around waiting.”  
Without waiting for anyone to speak, he put out a hand, feeling for his Colonel’s fingers, clasping them tightly. “I promise to keep out of your way, so you three can sort them out.” His voice quavered for a split second, then steadied “I know I’ll be useless in a straight fight.”  
“Oh, Templeton, Templeton,” sighed the Colonel and not caring that the others were watching, put his arm around his Lieutenant and hugged the tense figure warmly. "You'll never be useless, Tem. No way, not ever...” declared the Colonel, “not to me, not anyone.” He glanced up meeting two pairs of sympathetic dark eyes. “Tell him, guys.”  
Murdock leaned across the space between the bedrolls and took Peck’s free hand. “He’s right, Muchacho,” he said softly. “Just because you are temporarily incapacitated, doesn’t mean you can’t be useful.”  
B.A. grunted in agreement. “Fool’s right, Faceman, don’t you ever give up on us, or yourself...you hear me?”  
Peck let his head rest for another second against his leader’s broad shoulder, revelling in the security of that embrace and comforted, as always, by the bond that held them all together. “Yes, I hear you B.A.” He lifted his head defiantly, a new strength in his manner. “Besides, there's one thing I can do,” He smiled slightly. “I can act as bait.”  
Although the others chuckled softly, there was no laughter in their eyes, only a bleak acknowledgement of the danger that implied. It wouldn't be easy to allow Peck to serve as bait, but at the moment, not even Hannibal's fertile brain could come up with an alternative that wouldn't destroy his partner's trust and confidence completely.

As a pink-streaked dawn heralded the new day, the old house was a hive of activity as the three sighted members of the Team set about making it as secure as they could. Face occupied the time by walking round each room, familiarizing himself with individual size and location of any obstacles, his phenomenal memory for facts and figures standing him in good stead.   
None of them had slept particularly well, each man anxious to get to work on their individual tasks. Peck, lying in his sleeping bag between Hannibal and Murdock, had had the most sleep, having come to terms with his present situation and fears.  
Mario had phoned to say that Vincento would start out around mid-morning and try and time his arrival at the lake by late afternoon, thus giving the Team ample time to make their little fortress secure - but not too secure - and less time to wait for the enemy to make an appearance.

By noon, BA had got the old generator working well enough to give them some light in and around the house. It was jury-rigged and wouldn't last long, but, with luck, it would be enough.  
Murdock and Hannibal had been out setting up alarm wires and small traps around the garden, and ended up booby-trapping the downstairs rooms; they wanted as much warning as possible.  
They stopped for a breather at lunch, which was a mixed concoction of sandwiches and coffee from the supplies they'd brought with them.  
Not surprisingly Face didn't eat much, although he was outwardly calm, but the nervous twisting of his fingers told Hannibal and the eagle-eyed Murdock another story. The waiting, as always, the hardest thing to do.

Many miles away, a taxicab wove its way in between the traffic, its young driver singing along to the radio at the top of his lungs.   
Vincento was having fun. Following his Uncle Mario`s instructions, he'd gone to the address where he'd taken the Colonel a few days ago and walked up the stairs to the second floor. There, he'd retrieved a key taped to the underside of a potted plant standing in an alcove beside the window, then taken the elevator upstairs to the apartment number, also imparted by his Uncle.   
After a little struggle with the key, the young Anglo-Italian had entered the hallway and paused to get his bearings. Picking up a black leather attaché case from beside the couch in the living room, he'd gone into the bedroom. Opening the sliding mirrored doors of the closet, he'd whistled in envious admiration at the rows of immaculate outfits inside, then took out the leather jacket he'd seen Mr. Peck wearing, before regretfully closing the doors. He'd wanted to linger and have a closer look around the tastefully furnished and very comfortable rooms, but knew he was on a tight schedule and followed his instructions to the letter.   
Retracing his steps, Vincento had gone down in the lift again, the jacket slung casually over his shoulder, the attaché case gripped tightly under his arm and got into his cab. While pretending to fiddle with the radio stations, he'd glimpsed a shadowy figure standing on the far side of the lifts and grinned quietly to himself.   
Looks as though the bad guys, who were causing his favourite Colonel some concern, were watching, as anticipated.  
Vincento drove out of the underground garage and swung out onto the highway, glancing occasionally into his rear-view mirror to make sure he was being followed. Sure enough, a black saloon car soon came into his view and made no attempt to pass him. For appearances sake, he drove round in a circle a couple of times as though trying to see if he was being tailed, then apparently satisfied, made for the main highway and the route to Lake Success, confident that he’d given the impression of an amateur trying to lose a professional. “Could’ve lost those bums in no time at all,” he murmured to himself, as he saw the black saloon swing out from a side street and join in the stream of traffic about four vehicles behind him.  
The front seat passenger in the following car picked up the car phone and spoke confidently: “We're right on that kid's tail, Boss... he hasn't spotted us.”  
Hearing the harsh voice on the other end, he grimaced and agreed hastily. “Yeah, sure - we'll be careful.”  
Replacing the phone, he said to the heavy-featured man sitting beside him. “Boss says to be careful and not lose that kid, or he'll have our guts spilled...” he shrugged his shoulders. “Y'know, something, I believe him.”  
“So do I,” said his friend. “He's been pissed-off ever since he got bail... and that Petersen guy gives me the shivers.”  
The two other passengers nodded slightly, agreeing with him. The dark man Petersen scared most of them.  
The game of cat and mouse continued for miles, the taxicab's young driver enjoying himself hugely, as he speeded up then slowed down, sometimes in real danger of losing the following car, but it always came back in line behind him, its occupants experienced in this sort of work.  
Eventually, around 6 p.m. Vincento stopped to consult the written instructions given to him by his uncle, then proceeded cautiously along the lakeside until he came to the road leading to the old house. He hadn’t spotted the black car for the last few minutes and hoped he hadn't lost it entirely, but there was nothing he could do about it now.  
He stopped his cab in the overgrown driveway, picked up the case and jacket and walked up to the front door. Before he could even knock, it was opened quickly and a large dark figure loomed in the entrance.   
Vincento jumped in shock “Shit....oh man....you gave me a...” He wasn't allowed to finish, but was hauled by the arm into the hallway and the door shut behind him.   
Vincento grinned up at Baracus. ”Hey, B.A. Nice to see you too.”   
The big sergeant scowled down at the youth, but there was a faint twinkle in his dark eyes. “What'd I tell you about swearing, kid?”   
“Sorry.” The young man looked around. “What a dump,” he wrinkled his nose in disparagement, as he handed BA the jacket and placed the attaché case on the floor.  
“Yeah, well, there wasn't a great deal to choose from,” Smith’s voice came from the stairs. “Everything work okay, Vincento?” he asked coming towards the door.  
“Yessir, Colonel,” Vincento’s black eyes glowed with the light of hero-worship. “They were right behind me up until ten miles back...haven`t seen them since, though,” he had to add honestly.  
“That's okay, kid, they'll be here, probably reporting back to their slime-ball of a boss.”  
“What'd you want me to do now, Colonel?”   
Smith put an arm around the slender shoulders and turned him back towards the door. “I want you to get in your cab and hightail it out of here,” he said.  
“Oh.” Vincento was disappointed. “I thought I might be able to lend a hand...” he protested.  
“You've done your part real well, kid, but it's gonna get rough from now on, and I don't want your Uncle Mario after me with a carving knife if you get hurt.”   
“He knows I can take care of myself,” boasted the youngster, only to have a heavier hand grip his shoulders and he was spun round to face the big sergeant, who growled. “You do as you're told kid, you wanna help us...take orders, just like we do.”  
Vincento gulped. “Okay, okay... sorry Colonel,” he said turning back to Smith, who gave him a friendly grin.  
“That’s okay Vincento, but I want you to promise to go straight back to L.A. now. Those guys out there will be waiting for you to leave,” he grinned and patted the leather jacket slung over B.A.’s shoulder, “without this, then they'll know they've got the right place.”   
Vincento grinned back and nodded, awed as always by this charismatic leader of the famed A-Team.  
B.A. handed the jacket to Smith, then opened the door cautiously and looked out, he couldn't see anyone hanging about the open driveway and ushered the youth outside. Walking Vincento to his cab, he checked it out before allowing the youngster to get into the driving seat.  
“Drive safely, kid.”  
“Will do, B.A. Thanks.”  
Baracus watched until the cab disappeared down the drive, looked around again, then went back into the house.  
He closed and bolted the door securely before going upstairs to where his three friends were sitting on their bedrolls, talking quietly.  
Face was asking: “How’d Vincento get my jacket, Hannibal? Thought I'd left it in the apartment?”  
“You did,” said Smith as he watched his partner's hands smooth the leather carefully  
“Then how?” was the perplexed question.  
“He had a key,” said Smith, throwing a grin at Murdock and B.A.  
Face almost spluttered, appalled by a sudden thought. “He had a key? You mean he could've walked in...” He shook his head, then smiled. “Oh of course, the old key planted under the plant.”  
Murdock groaned. “You're getting as bad as Hannibal,” he chuckled.  
B.A. grunted. “Hope not.”   
“Hey, guys,” Hannibal spread his hands wide, innocence written all over his smiling features.  
"What's in the case, Colonel?” Murdock asked curiously.  
Smith grinned. “My cigars, of course.”  
Murdock gaped at him. “Huh?”   
Face looked aghast, then slowly nodded his head, knowing Hannibal's taste for setting a scene, he understood his lover's actions.  
“Looked good, though, don't you think?” beamed Hannibal. “Makes the opposition think I needed this case so badly, I had to send for it.”  
The pilot shook his head, grinning back. “And of course, the elegant Faceman would use the opportunity to get his best jacket,” he added.  
Face dug his elbow into his friend's ribs, ignoring the grunt of exaggerated pain. “Who’d you get to plant the key, this time?” he asked, knowing that not even his Colonel could've foreseen this train of events.  
“Maggie had one, for emergencies,” stated Smith evenly, mentally crossing his fingers. “I rang her when I rang Mario and she put the key there yesterday.”  
There was a small silence, as they all knew the way Maggie felt about the Colonel and the Lieutenant’s jealousy.  
Murdock cleared his throat, “Wasn't that a bit risky, Colonel? For Maggie I mean. Maddox might have recognised her.”  
Smith shook his head. “Don't think so. Whatever Maddox is, he isn't a complete fool. Even if he knows about the good doctor, which I doubt, he won't want to make waves by attacking a woman when he's out on bail. Besides, Maggie had company. She took her new assistant with her, guy named Walter, just as though they were making a house call.”  
“Oh, I see?” Murdock was watching Face, who was busily searching through the pockets of the jacket. He apparently found what he was looking for, because his hands stilled, but were empty when he withdrew them and placed the supple leather beside him on his bedroll.  
“Well, shall I take first watch, Hannibal?” asked B.A, apparently not noticing the sudden fall in conversation.  
“Yes, sure, B.A.” Smith seemed glad of the change in topic. “Murdock and I will spell you in four hour shifts.”  
“Okay.” The big sergeant got to his feet and walked out to start his watch.   
They had agreed that until one of the enemy was actually sighted, they would take it in turns to patrol the vulnerable areas of the house, which were the easily accessible windows and doors on the ground floor. Although they were all shut and bolted, they couldn't withstand any hard assault.   
“You okay with that Face?” asked Smith gently, knowing he was treading on thin ice.  
“Sure,” Face said evenly, determined not to show any emotion, although he chafed at the restrictions his lack of sight forced on him and the fact that Smith had called on Maggie for non medical assistance.   
He took heart from knowing he would have his own part to play later, when they were sure the house was being watched, even if it just meant him walking around, being visible, to lure Maddox out into the open.  
“Right.” Smith glanced at Murdock who nodded encouragingly at his leader.  
“Okay then, we might as well try and relax for the time being.” He placed a hand on Peck's arm. “You want to stay here, or...?” He left the question open, not about to suggest something and have Face argue.  
Face didn't think he could just stay there; he wanted to do something, anything rather than sit here and let the faint nausea caused by tension and jealousy erode away at his self-confidence. He needed to use up some of his pent-up energy, get rid of the thoughts of Maggie and Hannibal getting closer together. The doctor was the only woman he was nervous about, because he knew how much Hannibal thought of her.   
In his darkest moments of despair, he'd tortured himself with thoughts of Smith leaving him and going to live with Maggie, the very thought made him feel sick with fear.  
What would he do without Hannibal? His handsome, macho Colonel had become the very centre of his life.  
Determinedly he shook off the negative thoughts dragging his spirit down. “Think I'll take a turn about the roof,” he said as casually as he could, “I didn't get a chance to check it out properly before.”  
Without waiting for either of his companions to help, he got to his feet and steadied himself with a hand against the wall, then with his fingertips brushing the crumbling plaster, he made his way carefully to the door of the room.   
The move caught the others by surprise and it took all of Smith's control not to leap up and help his partner, while Murdock had to bite back an anxious query. The two men watched in breathless silence, their hearts in their mouths, trying not to interrupt their Lieutenant's concentration, or upset his sense of direction.  
When Peck got to the door, he said in a slightly shaky voice. “You can breathe now, guys, I made it.” Then he turned right and made his way to the end of the corridor where the ladder led up to the roof.  
Smith and his Captain were up on their feet and only inches behind Peck as he came to the exact spot in the corridor underneath the trapdoor leading to the roof space and halted.  
“Is the ladder down?” Peck asked evenly.  
“Er...no.” Smith replied.  
Peck put out a hand “Tell me where it is,” he said.  
“Face,” began Murdock, “one of us will get it for you.”  
The blond head shook a negative. “What if one of you isn't around?”  
Smith stepped forward, keeping his voice steady. “Here you are Tem. Give me your hand.” Taking the outstretched hand, he guided Peck's fingers to the metal hook which held the ladder horizontally across the ceiling of the corridor. “If you just pull hard, it will drop,” he paused, glancing at the pilot and gauging where his partner was standing. “Want to try it now? Don't want to brain yourself.”  
Peck was carefully exploring the hook and the direction in which he would have to move it, then nodded. “Okay.”  
Smith carefully moved Peck a few inches until the smaller man was standing directly in front of him and motioned Murdock back a little. “Okay, we're clear, pull hard.”  
Peck took a breath, then pulled strongly on the metal pin and stood still, listening to the creaking sound as the ladder swung down.  
Smith had positioned them all just right and the ladder swung past the three men to clunk onto the floor with a foot to spare.  
There was a collective sigh of relief and Murdock pantomimed wiping sweat off his brow.   
Hannibal grinned, but there was an ache in his heart, as Peck said shakily. “Piece of cake, guys.”  
“You know exactly where to stand now, Face?” the Colonel asked.  
Peck nodded. “Yes. If I stand with my hand at full stretch on the hook, the ladder will miss me by a mile.”  
“Well, at least twelve inches, Facie,” Murdock joked, but his brown eyes were serious.  
“That much,” returned Peck, delighted in his achievement, but still trembling slightly with the effort of concentrating.  
“That it for now?” asked Murdock, keeping his fingers crossed, but his hopes of persuading his friend to rest was short-lived.  
“Not yet, Murdock. I want to get out on the roof.”  
Smith cast a warning glance at his pilot, who closed his lips.   
“Okay Tem, want me to come with you?” he asked, out of consideration for his partner's feelings.   
“Yes, thanks Hannibal,” Peck had the sense to reply, thus averting another showdown, as there wasn't a snowball's chance in Hell, of Smith allowing his partner to climb the ladder and go out onto the roof alone, not while he was around.  
“I'll go first and open the trap-door,” said the Colonel and did just that, while Murdock fidgeted below.  
Face waited impatiently until he heard Hannibal say “Okay, kid, up you come.”  
Carefully placing his feet and hands, Face climbed the vertical ladder and rose through the open trap-door, feeling his Colonel's guiding hand helping him off the ladder.  
“Okay?” called Murdock, standing on the bottom rung, peering up anxiously.  
“Yes, fine thanks,” came the reply, echoing eerily around the dusty attic.  
“Right. I'll go and help BA.”  
“Get some rest, Murdock,” Smith's silver head appeared in the ceiling. “You can spell BA next.”  
“Okay,” Murdock moved reluctantly away. He knew he wouldn't be getting much rest until this was over.  
Peck felt his arm grasped securely as his Colonel led him further into the attic, automatically counting his steps until they halted.  
“There's a skylight here, Tem.“ Smith guided his exploring hand to the catch and looked round for anything to mark the place for his lover.  
Finding an old wooden box, he kicked it under the window; then still talking to Face, describing what he was doing, he unlatched the window and stuck his head outside.  
During the next half-hour, Peck walked the attic, familiarising himself with the layout, exploring the skylight, latching and unlatching it, until he was confident he could do it alone, if necessary.  
Smith helped him locate what he needed, then stood aside to let Peck find his way. When they were both ready, he opened the grubby skylight and climbed through, then leaning inside, instructed Peck where to put his feet for easier access to the roof of the house.  
After a few more minutes, when Face had climbed in and out several times, they stood together on the slightly sloping roof of the main building, facing the lake.  
Smith watched his lover anxiously, but apart from a dusty smudge on his straight nose and cobwebs adorning the back of his sweater, there was no evidence of distress that he could see.  
Stepping slightly behind Face, Smith brushed gossamer stands off the blue sweater, then tentatively put his arm around the his lover’s chest, relieved when the younger man leaned back into his embrace with a faint sigh of relief. They stood like that for several minutes, until Face asked softly: “What kind of night is it, Hannibal? Clear or cloudy?”  
Hannibal glanced up and saw that the moon was up and small clouds were skudding across the fairly clear sky.  
“Mostly clear, the stars are just coming out. There's a bit cloud, maybe have rain tomorrow,” he answered evenly, trying to ignore the pain eating at his heart.  
“Tomorrow? Wonder what that will bring.” Peck said in a quiet voice.  
Smith's throat ached, and he cleared it noisily before replying. “Tomorrow, we get rid of Maddox, put him back in jail for keeps this time. Then we get you fit and take off for parts unknown; blue skies and golden beaches, somewhere warm where you can top-up your suntan.” He paused, tightening his hold. “How does that sound?”  
Face smiled quietly, rubbing his head against Smith's chin. “Sounds just fine, Colonel.” He was silent for a few seconds. “What...er... what if my sight doesn't come back, not right away,” he added hastily, feeling the tension flood through the larger man's body.  
“It will come back, Tem. I know it will and Stephen thinks so too. When those slime-balls are put away, you'll have time to recover properly. Then we have a lot of tomorrows to look forward to. You and me, Tem, we belong together, for always.” Smith's voice was low and intense, imbuing his younger lover with his own certainty.  
Face turned in his Colonel's arms, his hands cupping the older man's face, his eager mouth searching the smooth-shaven features with feather light kisses until he found the wide, generous mouth and kissed it avidly, love and passion mingling in mind-blowing satisfaction.  
Smith responded with equal fervour and their surroundings were forgotten as they lost themselves in their love for each other.  
Pausing for breath, the slim body held tightly against his thudding heart, Smith felt as though he could conquer anything so long as this wonderful creature loved him.   
After a long interval of just being held close to his beloved Colonel, Face said quietly. “Y'know something, Hannibal?”  
“What?” asked Smith, brushing tendrils of blond silken hair from his mouth.  
“There's one thing I'm thankful for in all this mess.”  
“Oh?”  
“Mmm. The fact that I know what you look like. I can see you, up here,” he tapped the side of his head. “If my sight doesn't come back,” he felt the strong arms holding him tighten, but continued almost matter-of-factly. “I can still see every expression; see you smile, see that grin when you're about to do something outrageous, so everything considered, ” he snuggled deeper into Smith's grasp, “it could've been much worse.”   
Hannibal didn't know what to say to this extraordinary statement, he couldn't think of anything worse, other than the unthinkable, than his partner not being able to see.  
Eventually, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion, he said. “You will see me again, Tem, believe me, you will.”  
“Anything you say, lover,” there was an almost lazy note in the younger man's voice. “I believe you.”  
“Good,” retorted Smith, “'cos we have a lot of sunsets to see - together.”  
They stood together for another five minutes, the light breeze ruffling Face's longer hair and bringing the sounds of the wildlife on the lake to their ears. Then suddenly, their peaceful interlude was shattered by a strident siren as one of B.A's alarms was tripped.   
The two men jumped and Smith instinctively swung Peck to one side and down, crouching beside him as he drew his gun from its usual place in the small of his back. “Keep down, Tem,” he hissed, then cautiously raised his head over the low wall to see if he could spot any of the intruders.  
The moon chose that moment to slip behind one of the small clouds, plunging the surrounding grounds into gloom and Smith took that opportunity to guide his partner back to the skylight.  
Opening the glass wider, he helped the smaller man through and climbed down after him. “Wait here, Tem,” he said shortly, “I'm just going to check with B.A. and Murdock.”  
“But...” began Face, then closed his mouth, realising that he would just be in the way if Smith had to move quickly.  
“Okay,” he agreed, dropping his hand from Smith’s arm.  
“Good kid,” murmured Hannibal and pulling the tense figure closer, kissed him lightly on the lips. “Back in a second,” then he was gone.  
Alone in the darkness of more than the attic, Peck waited tensely, ears straining for any alien sound that would warn him of danger.

Smith got down to the ground floor in record time, even after putting up the ladder so as not to give away his partner's whereabouts. He came upon Murdock as the pilot materialised out of the gloom of the downstairs lobby.   
“Where’s B.A.?” asked Hannibal.  
“Side window,” replied the Captain tersely.  
The two men moved cautiously to the room at the side of the house and looked round the edge of the door, eyes peering into the darkness. Even though they were used to the big sergeant’s silent presence, they all but jumped as the large figure appeared beside them.  
“Can’t see anyone yet, Colonel,” B.A. said. “Could be just an animal.”  
“Yeah,” said Smith, “but does it have four legs or two?”  
The three men separated, each taking a room with views of the grounds, but after several tense minutes, failed to spot any human intruders, although Murdock spotted a large raccoon making its way back into the safety of the surrounding trees.  
“I’ll just check on the boathouse,” said B.A. and went towards the back of the house.   
Still keeping a watchful eye out of the windows, Smith and Murdock had relaxed a fraction, and waited for the Sergeant’s all clear. A few minutes later Baracus was back, shaking his head. “Not a sign of anyone, Hannibal, must’ve been a four-legged animal.”  
“Why B.A. you made a joke,” quipped the pilot and was rewarded by a warning growl.  
“Okay.” Smith thought for a moment. “I don’t like it, they could still be out there. Better keep on watch.”  
“Okay Colonel,” said Murdock, then to B.A. “I’ll take the parlour side, Big Fella.”   
Baracus grunted, “That ain’t the parlour fool.”  
“Well, it could be with a little work on it,” declared the Captain. “We could have a chintzy couch, and drapes...and...” Baracus moved one step towards him and Murdock decided he had urgent business elsewhere. “Okay, I'm gone. Couldn't sleep now at any rate.”  
Smith shook his head ruefully and moved to the stairs. “I'm just gonna tell Face, stay sharp.”

Upstairs in the dusty attic, Peck stood with his fingernails biting into the palms of his hands, his newly-found peace-of-mind under considerable strain as he waited, for what was to come. He had no idea of what he would do, if Maddox’s men did break into the house. That was something he would have to find out if, or when, it occurred.  
His ears straining, he heard the sound of the ladder being pulled down and the creak of the trapdoor, then his pent-up breath was released as a beloved voice called, ”False alarm, Tem. You okay?”  
Face sagged a little, then answered as calmly as he could. “Sure, Hannibal.”  
Smith came towards the tense figure of his partner and putting a reassuring arm around his shoulders, hugged him close.  
“You wanna come down now, have a cup of coffee with me?”   
“That would be fine, Colonel,” said Peck, hugging him in return.  
A few minutes later they were sitting on their bedrolls sipping lukewarm coffee from a flask.   
Peck grimaced. “This tastes awful,” he declared.  
“I know, much worse than you make,” said Smith with a grin, waiting for the usual riposte, which to his surprise was not forthcoming. “Face?”  
“Yeah,” Face sighed. “It's horrible.”   
“We'll have some food and hot coffee when Murdock and B.A. get back up here.”  
“I don't want coffee, Hannibal,” said Face abruptly, fingers twisting nervously as he fumbled the half-empty mug down on the floor. “I want this to be over...I want us to go home.”  
“I know, Tem,” replied Hannibal, grasping his Lieutenant's hands. “We will be going home soon, I promise.”  
“Will we?” Peck was agitated, his mind running over all the things that could go wrong. “I don't want anything to happen to you, or the other guys, Hannibal. I couldn't stand that, knowing I was to blame.”  
“Stop that, Lieutenant,” said Smith breaking into his lover's growing turmoil. “Whatever happens here, you are not to blame. I want you to know that, to believe that.”  
Peck shook his head mutely, unable to shake off his growing uneasiness. “How can I? If it wasn't for me, none of you would be in this situation, it's my fault that Maddox is out there.” He shivered.  
Smith gripped his hands tighter, and tried to speak calmly. “Listen to me, Tem. How can I make you understand? Maddox is to blame for everything that has happened to us recently, not you. We've been in some rough spots before, but we've been together and sorted them out. We’ve done that countless times for other people, strangers some of them. Now why can't we sort this out for ourselves?” He paused, letting go of one of his lover's hands to cup the younger man's chin. “Hear me, Tem. You weren't to blame for those strangers` problems, you're not to blame for this one.”  
Peck was listening, desperately hanging on to his commander's reassuring words, needing to hear them so as to drown out the insistently recurring voices that told him it was his fault: if he hadn't been... been... hurt, they wouldn't be in this particular mess.   
All his insecurities after the rape were clamouring to be heard, to drown him in their pit of despair and humiliation. The voices were loud, viciously trying to dominate him: yet there was something that was keeping them at bay, a louder voice which spoke of love and warmth and hope... Hannibal's. His lover, commander, leader would see him through this nightmare, see them all through, as he had so many times before. He couldn't let Hannibal down, that would be intolerable. He was more afraid of doing that than of anything that Maddox’s kind could do to him personally.   
He lifted his chin, helped by that warm, caring hand and nodded once. “I'm not to blame! Right, Hannibal. I'll try to remember that.”  
Smith examined the upturned face with care and relaxed a trifle as he saw the determined set of the sensitive mouth. “Okay, and just in case you forget, I'll keep on reminding you.” Then leaning forward, he pressed his lips over that same mouth with a cherishing kiss which made the younger man melt inside.  
“Oh Hannibal,” Face lifted his now freed hands and pulled Smith's head closer. “I do love you, so very much.” His eager mouth closed over Hannibal's and returned the kiss with increasing passion.

It was shortly after midnight, when Baracus appeared in the lamp-lit doorway. “Colonel, we got visitors,” he said brusquely.  
Smith looked up from his sitting position on his bedroll, back braced against the wall and glanced down at his partner, who was lying across his chest, head on Smith's shoulder. Peck's eyes were closed, but Smith knew he wasn't asleep from the tension in the slender body.  
Nodding to his sergeant, he said, “Right, B.A. Be there in a second.”   
The big sergeant disappeared down the stairs again as noiselessly as he'd arrived and Hannibal bent over his lover. “Face? I want you to stay here, we're just going to check, around.”   
There was a brief nod and Face levered himself off his partner's body and sat upright, as Smith rose to his feet. Picking up his weapons, Smith checked the smooth action of the bolt on handgun and M16, then bending kissed his lover's smooth brow and went to the door. “Stay put, Tem.”  
“Hannibal?”  
“Yes?”  
“You might as well put the lamp off,” Peck said evenly. “Save the batteries.”  
Smith paused, then retraced his steps and picked up the butane lamp. “Okay kid, stay cool.” He paused a second then added. “I'll take the lamp to the top of the stairs, pick it up on the way back,” he said.  
He sounded practical and businesslike, but Face knew every tone in that voice and knew that Smith was reluctant to leave him  
“Go on, Colonel,” he managed to say calmly. “I'll be okay `till you come back.”   
“Right!” and before he could make a complete fool of himself, the Colonel turned on his heel and left, leaving his whole reason for living in the dark of that upstairs room.

Down in the front room of the house, Baracus came to his leader's side. “I saw movement in those trees to the right,” he whispered.   
Just then Murdock appeared, “Got a bogey in those bushes left of the drive,” he reported.  
“Can't we go outside Hannibal?” queried B.A. “These City dudes aren't much cop outta their cars and streets.”  
“I was thinking something similar B.A.” said Smith, he didn't like this defensive waiting any more than his sergeant. He thought a moment. “Murdock, you stay here on watch.” He motioned toward the ceiling and the pilot nodded. He would guard his friend.  
“B.A. you take the right, I'll take the left. Meet back here in...“ he glanced at his watch. “...fifteen minutes. Okay?”  
“Wilco, Colonel.”  
The two men moved to the back window and after checking outside, took down the barricade and disappeared. Murdock watched for a few minutes, but was unable to spot his friends as the night swallowed them up.  
Patrolling around the lobby, the pilot kept watch on as many windows and doors as possible without actually leaving the bottom of the stairs and hoped that his colleagues would have good luck.

Colonel Smith moved through the cool night air with the stealth of a cougar and almost a lifetime of military training. He felt free of all restrictions imposed upon him by the city and if the outcome of this patrol hadn't been so important, he would have enjoyed pitting his wits and strength against this slime of humanity.   
There was another reason why Hannibal wanted to go outside. Although since Maddox and his gang had been arrested, he'd tried to put the reason for that arrest aside, but it was never far away. Now, he would take this opportunity to search for those men he'd seen on the video, whose leering faces were stamped forever on his memory - the men from the beach house: the brutal men, who had raped and tortured his lover. At the thought of the horrors he'd seen, a change came over Smith's features. The smile faded and a stranger looked out from the Colonel's vivid blue eyes; the tough, experienced, fighting man from more than one war, was in control; a primal man who would enjoy meeting and exacting punishment on those who had wronged him and his mate.   
It wasn't long before he heard sounds that were not natural to the lakeside denizens. Creeping silently towards them, he caught the smell of tobacco and shook his head in disgust. Two men were crouched behind a large shrub, gazing in the general direction of the house, guns held loosely in their hands, passing a cigarette back and forth.  
“Hell, it's cold out here,” one of them muttered. “Where is Maddox? If he wants these guys, why isn't he out here freezing his balls off.”  
“He has better use for them,” sniggered his companion. “And you'd better not let him hear you complaining, or you won't have any left to make out with that Lucy gal.”  
“Shh, what`s that?” the first man hissed, and glanced over his shoulder.  
Hannibal froze, then realised the men were gazing not toward him, but to their rear.   
“I didn't hear anything,” said the second man after a short pause.  
His partner shrugged. “Neither can I, now. Must've been one of those ducks on the lake.”  
A broad grin spread over Hannibal's face and cupping his hands to his mouth, gave a creditable imitation of a wild duck.  
“There...told you,” said the man whom Hannibal had mentally named Slime One.  
“They make a helluva racket,” complained his companion. “Sounded real close.”  
Smith gave another duck call and as the two men came up onto their knees to peer over the bush in front of them, he swooped like a shadow and was on them before they realised they were being attacked.  
Two quick, savage, blows with the edge of his hand and the pair of supposed watchers lost all interest in their surroundings. Smith bent over them to make sure they were really out and to see their faces in the fitful moonlight. He didn't recognise either of them, so pulled off their belts and neckties and bound the two men to either side of the largest shrub, then gagged them.   
“Two down, how many to go,” he wondered absently, as he faded away to find more victims.  
He hoped they'd be as easy to locate as Slime One and Two, but his experience and instincts told him otherwise.

B.A. Baracus was having similar luck on his side of the grounds. The trees were thicker here and he slipped easily through the dense shadows, listening for any sound of the intruders. He came to a sudden halt as he noticed a patch of denser shadow and after a moment, the big sergeant found he could almost reach out and touch the nearer of three men standing in a rough semicircle, rifles held in tightly clenched fists. Baracus could almost smell the tension and smiled grimly, these were not happy men.  
Gliding around in a wide circle he made sure that there weren't any more men hidden in the immediate surroundings, then moved back to a vantage point behind the third man standing a little further back from his friends.   
The bulky man shifted nervously, getting tired of this waiting and peered forward, trying to make out the outline of his two fellow watchers. He caught something dark out of the corner of his eye, but before he could open his mouth, he was swung off his feet by a large hand around his throat and lapsed into unconsciousness without ever knowing what had hit him.  
B.A. lowered his victim to the ground and rolling him over, pulled the man's jacket down over his arms, immobilising him for a time, as he set about taking out the other two.  
In the meantime, Murdock was doing his best to be in two places at the same time, checking the side window, then moving across the lobby, checking that the latch was still fastened on the inside of the front door, before moving to check the other windows on the ground floor.  
As he moved cautiously forward stepping round the obstacles placed there deliberately by Baracus, a shadow appeared on the glass of the window he'd just checked.

In the darkened room upstairs Face stood tensely, hands clenched into tight fists. The silence was deafening, although he strained his ears, he couldn't hear a sound, apart from the natural creaking of the old house. He wished with all his heart that the others hadn't left him alone up here, but would never admit it, or try to hamper them in any way. He moved cautiously forward, feeling his way to the door and stood behind it, at least he would have some slight warning of anyone trying to enter.  
Strung tight as he was, when the crash came from downstairs, it made him jump and he leaned his head against the half-open door trying to discern what was happening.

Murdock swung around at the sound of breaking glass, then half turned back as the window behind him also shattered, as the intruders made a two-point attack.  
He lashed out with his gun-filled fist at the figure climbing through the nearest window and was grimly satisfied at the solid crunch as he hit the man's jawbone, knocking him back amidst a shower of jagged glass, then heard the man scream as his flesh was torn by the sharp fragments.  
By the time he'd crossed over to the other window, however, there were two more dark shadows already in the hall and the pilot braced himself for their attack. As they rushed at him, Murdock dodged to one side and one of his attackers fell over the broken chair strategically placed there by Baracus; but the other came straight at him and Murdock staggered back as the man hit him with a solid blow to the stomach.  
Winded, the tall pilot folded over clutching his midsection, gasping for breath. “Hann'bal...” he yelled, or at least tried to shout, but only a wheeze came from his abused lungs.  
He was waiting for another blow to finish him off when another figure appeared right behind his grinning attacker.  
Smith's silver hair gleamed in the moonlight reflecting through the broken shards of the windows as he swung his fist just once at the guy's jaw. The intruder simply folded into a heap out for the count, all of the Colonel's weight had been behind that blow.  
“Murdock?” his tone was tense.  
The pilot raised a hand, “’m okay...just..winded...” he gasped.  
“Any more?” asked Smith, his hand touching his pilot's shoulder.  
Murdock nodded over to the other window and Smith went to investigate. He was met by another two men, as they bundled their bleeding companion to one side and tried to avenge his defeat.  
The coldly angry figure of Smith gave them no chance. Ducking the first man's rush, he stuck out his foot tripping the other and the two men floundered over the bits and pieces of furniture dotting the floor. They were up in seconds however and grappled with the Colonel, having lost their guns when they fell.  
By the time Murdock had regained his feet, if not his breath, there was only one of the men standing and he was being hit by the furious Colonel, who had one fist locked into the black jacket of his victim while the other battered him repeatedly about the face and jaw.  
The sound of another body hitting the floor welcomed the solid figure of Baracus as he entered through the first broken window, but his help was no longer needed as the moonlight showed the fallen bodies of the attackers and two heavily breathing men, one from sheer exertion, the other from being winded.  
“Any left for me?” growled the Sergeant, taking in the scene with keen eyes.   
“Nope... sorry,” gasped Murdock, straightening up.  
“I got three out there,” said the Sergeant, going to each fallen man and checking that they were really out of the fight. He dragged Murdock's first victim right into the house and found he was bleeding copiously from various cuts, some of them looked fairly deep.  
“I need a doctor,” he moaned, sniffling into a sodden handkerchief.  
“Shut up, or you won't be needin' anybody, ever...” growled the Sergeant.  
“I got two,” said Smith, going over to each of the men and staring into their faces, but he didn't recognise anyone.  
“I don't remember any of these guys from the original gang,” he said suddenly, swinging round to his two men. “Do either of you?”  
A quick inspection by Murdock and Baracus confirmed his fears.  
“That means...” began Murdock.  
“It means that these are just a decoy,” snapped Hannibal,   
“...or Maddox is running out of options,” put in Murdock, trying to be optimistic.  
“Yeah.” Hannibal didn't sound convinced.  
“Make sure these guys can't cause any trouble, I'm just going to check on Face." Smith hurried to the stairs.  
“Face?” he called as he made the landing and bent to pick up the lantern he'd left there.  
Peck's breath gushed out with a sigh of relief. “Here, Hannibal,” he answered, standing away from the door as he heard Smith's familiar tread outside.  
Hannibal had lit the lantern and now entered the room, finding his Lieutenant standing just inside the door, hands clenched, but otherwise seemingly calm.  
“You okay?”  
“Is everyone okay?”   
The two questions came in the same breath and brought a slight relaxation in both men's demeanour.  
“I asked first,” joked Smith, though he didn't feel much like joking, as he put an arm round his lover's shoulders.  
“In that case, yes, I'm fine,” Peck replied, grasping the hand on his upper arm. “I heard the window breaking,” he added, “did they get inside?”  
“Just,” admitted Smith, “they came in from both sides, but didn't get past Murdock.”  
“He okay?”   
“Yes, a bit winded, but he's okay now,” reported Smith.  
“That's good,” sighed Peck, his tense shoulders relaxing under Smith's caring hand.  
“You okay for a bit longer? I'll just go down and help round up the guys we got in the garden.”  
“You went outside?” asked Peck, tensing again.  
“It was okay, Face. We got five of them, they won't be bothering us again.”  
“For crying out loud, Colonel,” Peck was exasperated as always at the risks his leader took. “What if?”  
“It didn't happen, Face,” said Smith calmly, used to his Lieutenant's protests when he deviated from a plan.  
“Aw Hannibal,” Peck shook his head.  
“Look, I'm just going downstairs again, won't be long.” Smith dropped a kiss onto the blond head and squeezed the tense shoulders again.  
“Sure,” agreed Peck, knowing he couldn't do a thing to help and feeling despondent all over again.  
As Smith went towards the stairs, Peck sat down heavily on the pile of bedrolls and rubbed at his eyes, wishing they were all a million miles from this place.  
Hannibal paused at the top of the stairs and sighed, half relief, half anxious, he hated to see his partner so troubled. Normally he would have ruffled his lover's blond hair and made a joke, looking forward to the verbal and physical sparring that almost always followed one of their disagreements. Shaking his head, he pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket and lit it before heading down to the ground floor. The sooner they got out of here the better for Face.  
Halfway down he paused again, as a faint sound caught his attention. Leaning over the banister he tried to see what might have caused it, but after the light upstairs, his eyes couldn't penetrate the gloom.   
“B.A.?” His voice floated softly through the air, pitched so that it wouldn't carry more than a few feet.  
There was no answer. For once Smith hesitated, torn between finding out what had happened to B.A. and Murdock and the urgent need to protect the most important person in his life.  
The decision was taken for him, when rough hands, thrust through the stair rails, suddenly grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him off balance. As he realised that a fall was inevitable, Hannibal managed to grab the rail and halt his plunge downwards, giving himself time to turn the fall into an almost controlled roll. He still hit the bottom stair with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs and the cigar from his mouth, and he lay there for a moment to recover his breath and get his bearings.   
There was a scramble of people moving around him and a few curses as the intruders tripped against the items B.A. and strewn with such care.  
“Where the hell is the light?” snarled a voice close to where Smith was lying curled into a protective ball. “The house is derelict you damn fool,” cried another exasperated man, “there's no power here.”  
“I don't care,” another voice joined the heated debate. “Get me some light. I wanna see these guys who managed to take all of you so easily.”  
Is that Maddox? Damn, thought Hannibal, wondering where his two men were and what had happened in the short time he'd been upstairs. Oh God! Face... he's alone...  
He uncurled a trifle and tried to sit up, but a hard leather sole caught him under the ribs and he rolled over onto his side. “You stay there, Colonel, or whatever you call yourself, where I can keep an eye on you.” a voice snarled from just above him.  
“Thought you couldn't see,” came the slightly breathless, but undoubtedly mocking reply from the prone man.  
“I can see you well enough,” was the short answer, accompanied by a another kick in his aching ribs.  
After a few more minutes of cursing and hurried movements in the dark, a lantern was brought and Smith could see his assailants.  
Although his features remained impassive, his heart sank, as he saw Murdock lying against the far wall, apparently unconscious, with an armed thug standing over him. He couldn't see B.A. anywhere and his hopes rose slightly, knowing how quietly the big sergeant could move.  
He was jolted from his analysis of the situation when the man standing over him bent down and grabbed him by the front of his jacket hauling Smith into a sitting position. “You've caused me a lot of trouble, Smith....you'll pay for that in due time.”  
“No need to pay me,” the silver-haired man replied brightly, “I enjoyed it.”  
His answer was a flat-handed blow to his already aching head. “Damn you.”   
Smith was saved from a further blow as another, dark-suited man carrying an automatic came up. “Hey Boss... there's no sign of that big fella.”  
“Well find him. I want them all,” was the reply.  
The man faded from view and Hannibal smiled quietly to himself: Good work B.A. With a little luck they'd all come out of this okay. 

Upstairs Face heard the crash of Smith's fall and sat upright.   
“Hannibal?” he called uncertainly, fear in his tone.  
When there was no reply, the Lieutenant struggled to his feet and stumbled to the door, listening intently. He could hear voices from downstairs and knew his worst fears were about to be realised, after all their precautions and preparations, Maddox's men had gained entry to the house.  
For a few seconds, Peck stood there, stunned into inactivity, shaking his head in denial, his mind whispering: No, oh no... this can't be happening. Hannibal, you promised, you promised you wouldn't let them take me. All at once he was back in that beach house, being tormented by pitiless men; his bare flesh seared by cigarette burns, his mind and body shuddering in disgust under the ruthless hands invading his body, as they plundered the intimate places that had been so loved and treasured by Hannibal; every bone and muscle aching from the beatings. His fingernails dug into his palms as he fought for breath, wanting to scream out his frustration, anger and fear. Where could he hide, Hannibal would want him to hide, but where? The roof ? What about the attic? Surely he could find a place to hide, maybe the gangsters wouldn't make too thorough a search.  
He shrank from the thoughts of what would happen should they find him and his frantic mind took refuge in escape, only to find another, older, nightmare. 

..... The blackness of the old house was no longer there, it was replaced by the damp, pitch blackness of a jungle: he could smell the wet, rotting vegetation, feel the hardness of tree bark under his fingers, his mind shrinking from the moans and screams of human beings tortured beyond their capacity to withstand... and it would be his turn next. Of the eight men who'd shared the cage, he was the only one left, the last of his companions having been dragged from it some hours ago. It was their screams he'd heard as their captors had tried to extract information that could not be given, not just because they refused, but because they didn't know... but the enemy didn't seem to care about that, it was just an excuse to inflict pain and humiliation on the hated American soldiers.  
If only he hadn't been separated from his companions, he might have been better able to cope, but Sergeant Ramon Montoya and Corporal Will Shephard, the men with whom he'd arrived in Vietnam, had hopefully escaped from the initial attack. Peck and two other officers from a different unit, had been separated from the other ranks soon after they'd been dragged to this village, which served the VC as a temporary camp.   
After the gruelling forced march from where his unit had been ambushed the day before, the young Second Lieutenant had been exhausted enough, but to have to witness the barbaric executions of the wounded who could not keep up, was unbearable. Peck, with the optimism of the very young, had thought he'd become hardened to the sight of cruelty after six months in Vietnam, but this was beyond his comprehension. He tried to shut his ears to the sounds of inhumanity, but they intruded, echoing in his head until he was at screaming point, but not daring to make a noise in case the enemy remembered he was there. Maybe if he kept very still and very quiet they wouldn't find him. He shrank back into the far corner of his prison, sloshing in the cold water of the half submerged bamboo cage and curled himself into the smallest bundle he could, with only his nose and mouth about the evil smelling water.  
He crouched there for what seemed hours to him, but in reality couldn't have been more than thirty minutes, as the sky was still black and so overcast, that not even a glimmer of light intruded to break the youngster's terror.  
He whimpered as a faint sound came to his straining ears, something, or much worse, someONE was outside the cage. Holding his breath didn't seem to help, he could hear his heartbeat thudding loudly, surely whoever was there could hear it.  
Just when he thought he couldn't hold back a scream any longer, a faint whisper penetrated his panic-stricken mind.  
"There's one here."  
Peck gulped. Those three words were not any Vietnamese that he knew.  
"Right. Let's get him out first, then we can see about the others."  
Peck still made no sound, but stared at the darker shadows fumbling at the roof of the cage, his blue eyes reflecting fear, uncertainty...and a faint glimmer of hope.  
"Who?" he began.  
"Quiet," the man struggling with the chain hissed.  
Peck clamped his lips shut, shivering as hope started to flood his battered mind.  
After an eternity - or two minutes - depending on viewpoint, the bamboo door swung open, and two hands reached down and grasped the teenager's shoulders.  
Instinctively Peck recoiled, still unable to believe that this wasn't a trick of his VC captors.   
"It's okay kid," a gruff voice hissed. "Come on, outta there," and he was yanked into the air and seemed to float through the door and up beside two solid figures, then before he could even find his breath, he was whisked into the cover of a ruined hut.  
"Okay, B.A. Stand guard." The bigger of the two men grunted in acknowledgment of the soft-voiced order and disappeared round the other side of the hut.  
"All right, Lieutenant?" the voice queried.  
Peck nodded dumbly, his eyes like saucers as he strained to see his rescuer.  
"Do you know where the others are?"  
Peck shivered, gulped and shook his head. "N..Not really...they took the last of them a while back...can't remember exactly." The youngster paused, "but...but...I could hear them for a long, long time..." his voice broke and he bit hard at his lip to stifle the sob of horror.  
A strong hand came out of the darkness and grasped his shoulder. "Okay, kid...I understand. Take a minute, then we have to get out of here and see if we can find them." The voice was incredibly gentle and calmed the young soldier.  
Peck gulped, wiping a dirty, torn sleeve across his face in a curiously child-like gesture, then glanced up at the shadowy figure beside him. There was just enough light to see two vivid blue eyes, bright with compassion and understanding.   
That was his first meeting with Lieutenant-Colonel John Smith. Peck would never forget that first meeting, or how he'd followed the Colonel and his small rescue unit back through the VC lines to safety, with three of his companions dragged from the very grip of the enemy. ....

Another loud noise from downstairs, dragged Face from the past back into the nightmare of the present, and he faced again the blackness of despair and terror. The memory of that terrible time had, however, also dragged him past the panic and Face shook his head in weary disgust at the very thought of hiding. Sure, he was afraid of Maddox, Petersen and the others, but he was more afraid of letting his friends down.  
That was a lesson that neither Peck, nor any of the men Smith had come into contact with ever forgot. They never left a man who could be rescued, no matter what the risk; after he'd joined Smith's unit, Peck found friends who would never let him down.  
As he closed his eyes and pictured the way Hannibal's blue eyes so filled with concern and compassion had gazed into his own, that first time they'd met; the way the Colonel had helped him through the next few weeks, which had stretched into months, then into years, Face knew there was only one thing more certain than life or death and that was Smith would never ever leave him, nor hide from a fear.  
Taking a few deep calming breaths, he mentally squared his shoulders and moved slowly out of the door and felt his way along the corridor to the head of the stairs. He had to find out what had happened to his friends and help them in any way he could.  
Listening intently he heard a voice that made him shudder, a guttural, harsh voice that he would never forget. Weinberg!   
The lard-bellied thug who had almost smothered him in rolls of sweating, quivering fat as he'd lain on top of him.  
Fingernails biting into his palms, Face heard: “I want them all.”  
Taking a deeper breath, Face moved back they way he'd came, a desperate plan forming in his mind. If he could cause a diversion, it would give his friends a chance to escape.  
Feeling along the wall, the Lieutenant carefully positioned himself, then called out: “Hannibal... what's wrong? Where are you, Colonel?” His voice was shaky, which wasn't as assumed as Peck would've liked, but it evidently did the trick.  
There was a short silence from below, then the noise of footsteps on the stairs, trying to be quiet.  
Peck put all his resources into listening and tracking the man coming up the stairs. There was only one for the moment, which suited him perfectly.  
His hearing had always been acute and now with so much resting on being able to see through his ears, Peck heard every minute creak of the wooden treads and as the man topped the stairs, could hear him breathing.  
Weinberg halted at the top of the stairs, his cruel lips twisting into a sneering smile of triumph as he saw in the light of the lantern Smith had left, his quarry standing halfway along the corridor, leaning slightly forward with one hand on the wall, presumably to keep his balance. He'd heard that their erstwhile captive was blind, but the reality of seeing that slender figure completely defenceless, gave an added pleasure to the one he was anticipating.  
“Well, well...so here you are, liebchen. I have been looking forward to seeing you for some time now.” As he spoke, he advanced along the narrow passageway, replacing the gun in his jacket pocket, in order to leave both hands free to hold onto his prize.  
“Weinberg?” The horror in that one word, caused the American-born German to chuckle.  
“The very same. Come here, my little Joey; let me take you home, your other friends are waiting for you, we didn't finish teaching you all our tricks.”  
“You...you keep away from me, you filthy pig.” Peck's voice was savage, but Weinberg could see the terror on the handsome features, as his quarry stepped backwards, pressing himself flat against the wall.  
“Oh come now, is that any way to...”  
As he reached forward to grab the man just a few feet in front of him, he heard a strange grating sound, then cried out in pain as something heavy and metal struck him squarely across the head and shoulders, sending him crashing to the floor.  
Peck had judged his time perfectly, he'd waited until the last possible moment; as soon as he'd sensed his enemy was just in front of him, could even smell his breath, he'd pulled the lever he'd been holding and the metal ladder had flattened the gangster to the floor.  
Unfortunately, the German wasn't totally incapacitated. Face could hear him cursing volubly and hands scrabbled at his legs.   
Kicking out, he managed to free himself, then feeling a surge of fury and frustration, he bent down, trailing one hand down the metal rungs to find the fallen man`s head. Peck then grabbed Weinberg's lank hair and thumped his head several times on the floor until the cursing died away and the struggling body went limp under his hands.  
Panting with the release of some of the pent-up stress he'd been carrying for a long time, Face stood up, wiping a shaking hand over his sweating brow. Then, moving as quickly as he dared, he started towards the back rooms, hoping that when the others came to check, they'd think he'd climbed the ladder onto the roof.   
Downstairs, when he'd heard Tem calling his name, the Colonel had felt his stomach cramp in sudden fear.  
Oh Tem, what're you thinking of...  
He was just about to shout a warning to his lover, when the man who'd hit him earlier, bent down quickly and thrust the gun muzzle into his throat. “Not a word, Smith, or you'll never live to see your pretty-boy Lieutenant again.”  
Smith choked back on the yell, he knew this man meant his threat, and he'd be no use to Tem if he was dead. He'd bide his time; in any case, another thought was forming. Face wouldn't betray his position like that without a reason: Hannibal suddenly knew the purpose of the Lieutenant's call, it was to give them a chance, a diversionary tactic.  
Good kid, he thought affectionately.  
It seemed to work too, as one of the bigger men, the one with a faintly familiar guttural accent moved past them and started up the stairs.  
“Bring him down here, Otto. Remember Maddox wants to see him,” the man crouched over Smith muttered as the larger man passed.  
Otto ignored him and started up the stairs.  
Smith glanced round, the odds were a lot better now, as the men who were still capable of movement had left to look for B.A. taking their injured companions with them, no doubt to sit in whatever transport they'd brought along. That left the man with him, another one standing over Murdock's body near the window and a third by the opposite window.  
He struggled to a sitting position against the wall and looked up at the man with the gun. “What now? What're you going to do with us?”  
The man squatted casually down in front of his captive and grinned. “Who says we're gonna DO anything to you, we've just come for that blond fella all the top rank have the hots for.” He laughed evilly. “He must be one first-class, piece of ass, when they all want to have a go of him.”  
He laughed at the spark of fury which lit the icy blue eyes. “What's the matter, Smith, they stepping on your toes?”  
“Not at all.” How he kept his voice level, Hannibal would never know. He wanted to take this piece of crud and slowly throttle the vile words back down his throat.  
“Maddox and his lot are just furious because we messed up their biggest deal, they're taking it out on Peck because he trapped them.”  
The guy shrugged, getting to his feet. “It makes no matter to me, I'm just hired for the job, then me and my guys are outta here.”   
“So what's the plan? You gonna leave us here, kill us...what?” Smith asked trying to keep the man's attention as he saw a flicker of movement from the tall form of his Captain across the room.  
The hired gunman, whom Smith had now recognised as a lesser-known wheel in the underworld by the name of Tony Marcellino, glanced down at the man sitting by the wall.  
“Maddox wants you dead, he'll have to do it himself, he's not paying me enough to commit murder,” he answered casually.  
Just then a loud crash sounded from upstairs, followed by a yell of pain, cursing and the sound of a struggle.  
“What the hell?” Marcellino swung round to the stairs.  
The man guarding Murdock ran across to join his Boss. “What was that?”  
“How the hell should I know, maybe that clumsy Kraut tripped over his pants.” Marcellino gave a lewd chuckle. ”He's been wanting to get his leg over, mebbe couldn't wait.”  
“Yeah, I suppose. He sure was eager to come along.” He paused, glancing round nervously, “Shall I go see? I want to get outta this place, Tony, it gives me the creeps.”  
“Yeah, okay,” Marcellino agreed, a shade reluctantly. “Bring the blond guy down and we'll split this joint.”  
As his henchman went towards the stairs and started to climb, Tony added. “Oh, and Benny, be careful. These guys are full of tricks.”  
Benny nodded and continued quietly on his way.  
Between the dark-trousered legs of the man standing over him, Smith saw Murdock move his head slightly, his eyes looking directly at him; the pilot was conscious and waiting for a signal.  
Smith gave a minute nod and with a slight movement of his hand, gestured to the stairs. The tall Captain raised his right thumb, then lay back in his original position, waiting for his commander's lead.  
It wasn't long in coming as Marcellino, after glancing at Smith to make sure he was still hunched on the floor, moved across to where the last man was standing by the window.   
“You see anything, Lou?” he asked curtly.  
“Not a thing, it's like the inside of a black cat out there.”  
“Well, keep your eyes peeled.”   
Just then Benny`s voice yelled. “Boss. Hey Tony, the Kraut's out cold, and the blond fella's not up here.”  
“SHIT!”  
Hannibal grinned triumphantly... ATTABOY Templeton...  
Tony Marcellino strode across the littered floor towards Smith. “You, Smith, get up. If your pretty friend is playing tricks, you're gonna be first to get a bullet.”  
“Thought Maddox wasn't paying you enough to commit murder?” Smith declared mockingly.  
“Exceptions can be made, fella...and you're beginning to piss me off." The toe of his shoe made painful contact with Smith's ribs. "Now get up.”  
“Okay, keep your hair on.” Smith's voice was cool and provocative.  
Marcellino, extremely conscious of his receding hairline, took the remark personally. Bending forward, he grabbed Smith by the front of his jacket to haul him up faster.  
That was what Smith had been waiting for, get the opposition mad enough and they usually made a mistake.  
He came up faster than the gangster thought possible, his left hand striking the gun to one side, as the top of his silver head impacted with Tony`s chin, snapping his head back.  
“Lou...” Marcellino yelled, stumbling backwards, pulling the trigger of the gun as he tried to keep his balance; the bullet missed his target by inches.  
Lou turned from the window and started to run across the littered floor to help his Boss, when he felt something against his ankles. The recumbent and apparently unconscious Murdock, had rolled over into his feet, tripping him and bringing his chin down to meet Smith's fist.  
The uppercut connected with a satisfying crack and Lou sprawled out on the floor, taking no further interest in the proceedings, his gun dropping neatly within the Captain's long reach.  
In less time than it took for Murdock to pick up the weapon, Smith threw himself at Marcellino, wrestling for possession of the gangster's gun.  
The would-be Mafioso snarled wolfishly, he wasn't finished yet and struggled violently, confident that he could take the silver-haired guy; after all he was younger and carried a lot more muscle. To his surprise, however, he found he was no match for the cunning infighting skill and strength of the leader of the A Team.   
The fight was vicious, each man using every trick in his individual book to win and although the gangster could hold his own with most of his contemporaries, he discovered it was a far different matter fighting a Special Forces trained officer, whose very survival had depended on his ability to protect himself.   
He tried to grapple with Smith, hoping his greater girth could swamp the older man, but Smith met him strength for strength and finished the fight with a crushing right-hook to the other man's jaw. The gangster hit the floor hard and lay moaning on his face.   
Panting for breath and wiping the blood from a cut eyebrow, Smith patted Murdock's arm reassuringly and held up the gun.  
“Okay Captain?”  
Murdock nodded, his brown eyes cold and hard as he looked down at the sprawled bodies. “Yes, Colonel....your orders, Sir?” The cut-glass accent was extremely British.  
“Find Face before he runs into trouble....before reinforcements arrive.”  
“Of course, sir.” Then the pilot added hesitantly, “I'm sorry I let them in, Colonel, there were too many, took me by surprise. I'm sorry.”  
“Forget it Murdock,” Smith's voice was gentle, hearing the self-condemnation in the pilot's voice. “We are a bit outnumbered... even for us...and...”  
Just then a large, dark, shadow showed through the broken window. “Hannibal,” Baracus` whisper silenced his Team mates.  
Smith moved towards the window. “Yeah, B.A. We're here.”  
“Good,” the relief in the other man's voice was evident, he'd heard the shot. “I got stopped by a few other gang members,” the Sergeant panted. “You secure here.”  
“Yes, we are now...had a small problem...” Smith nodded to the two figures lying on the floor. Marcellino had stopped groaning and was nursing his bloodied nose and even more dented pride.  
“There's more of them than we thought Hannibal. I ran into another carload out near the road.”  
“Where?”  
“Oh, I took care of `em...” Baracus` white teeth showed in a rare grin. “They're sleepin`...and tied up.”  
Smith grinned. “Good work, Sergeant," clapping the big mans shoulder as he climbed in through the window.  
“Where's Face?”   
“Upstairs somewhere.” Hannibal said. “He threw them a diversion, split them up for us.” He motioned towards the stairs. “But we've got to get to him fast, there's at least two more of the gang up there, and one of them's armed. Tie these guys up, B.A. then follow us.”  
Baracus nodded and turned to the recumbent bodies.  
“You okay, Murdock?” Smith asked.  
Murdock nodded, “Just a headache, wasn't out as long as they thought.” He smiled, his physical and emotional injuries reassured somewhat by the Colonel's acceptance of what had happened.   
“Good man,” approved his commander.   
Pausing only to arm themselves with B.A.'s spare torch, the two men moved rapidly to the staircase and started up as quietly as possible.

Face meanwhile, had made his way along the corridor to the last but one door and was now standing with his back against the wall behind it, listening intently.  
He'd heard Benny's voice calling down to his Boss and hoped he'd given his friends time to achieve their escape. Now though, he knew the man was trying to find him and he was anxious to prevent that happening.  
His heightened sense of hearing discerned the sound of footsteps, trying to be quiet, then came the sound of a soft curse as Benny squeezed past the metal ladder.  
Face wondered absently if the German had recovered yet, but then dismissed irrelevancies from his mind, concentrating on staying out of Benny's reach.   
He heard the searching mobster's feet on the metal rungs and sighed thankfully, it looked as though his plan had worked. Benny thought he'd gone into the attic, so with a bit of luck he could move to another room, one that, hopefully, had already been searched.  
Stretching out his hand for the knob, Face froze as a faint whisper of sound on the other side of the door stopped him with his fingertips just touching the cold metal of the doorknob. The hair on the back of his neck rose in heightened tension and he held his breath as the knob moved under his fingers.  
Withdrawing his hand slowly and carefully, although he wanted to snatch it back from the danger lurking on the other side, Peck stood like a statue as the door started to creak open.   
He felt the stir of air against his skin as the wooden panels of the door swung open, but didn't move, every nerve straining to hear who was entering his place of hiding.  
The man in the doorway stood still for a long time, letting, Face guessed, his eyes adjust to the darkness; that meant he was a professional and all the more dangerous for that.  
The Lieutenant also knew how to be still and silent, that had been the method of staying alive in another dark jungle a decade and a half ago. Peck put that experience to good use now and became like part of the wall, determined to wait the other out.  
His patience was rewarded when the door swung silently closed again and although he sensed he was alone again, made no attempt to move for a few more minutes.  
Hearing nothing for another five minutes, Face tried the knob again, opening it very slowly, careful not to make it squeak.  
Edging around the half-open door, he listened again and thought he heard a faint noise to his left. Turning to stone, his sightless eyes peering helplessly ahead, he braced himself for whatever was going to happen next.   
Suddenly, the eerie silence was broken by the sound of a gunshot, so unexpected, it made Peck's heart jump into his throat, then all hell broke loose.   
From the ground floor came the noise of a vicious fight; the smack of fist on flesh, voices cursing and the thud of bodies hitting the floor and other solid objects, seemed to make the old house shudder.  
Then, just as suddenly, the sounds stopped and only the harsh moaning of a man, or men, in pain was audible to Peck's straining ears.  
God, I hope Hannibal won that fight, was Face's first thought, never doubting that his Colonel was involved.  
Then he had more immediate events to deal with, as a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.  
Pulled off balance by the sudden attack, the slimly built Lieutenant went with the motion and brought his clenched fist up from waist level and struck out at the man holding him. His fist connected with what felt like the man's jaw and he heard his attacker curse and the grasp on him loosened, but not enough for him to pull away.  
Following up his slight advantage, Face hit out again, but this time felt the blow deflected and was rewarded by a savage blow to the side of his head, which half stunned him.  
“You sneaky little shit,” was snarled into his ear. He was dragged upright again, his right arm twisted behind him in a painful lock, which left him helpless to retaliate.  
“Let go,” Peck panted, “you're breaking my arm.”  
“I'll break more than your arm if you don't quit fighting me,” gasped his captor. “I think you've broke my jaw, so hold still.” He tightened his grip and Face subsided, realising that the other man was too strong for him at close quarters.  
Catching his breath, he decided he'd have to wait for another opportunity.  
That came quickly, as footsteps sounded faintly on the stairs, more than one pair.  
“Damn!” The man behind him muttered and Face quickly realised that the approaching men must be his companions, not the intruder's.  
“Hannibal...” he yelled, then was cuffed to silence by the butt of his captor's gun and dragged back into the room in which he'd been hiding.  
Smith, with Murdock close behind him, halted at the top of the stairs; the lantern was where he'd left it and in its wan light, he saw the ladder blocking the passageway and the motionless figure of a man lying jammed against the wall. Approaching cautiously, he found it was the German, bleeding from a head wound. Smith felt no pity for him, knowing the kind of games Weinberg had had in mind for his lover. He felt the injured man had got off fairly lightly, as although he was unconscious, he was still breathing.  
Leaning over the mobster to check that he was breathing okay, his hand stilled and his eyes narrowed as he recognised the slack features as one of the men in the video who had abused his lover so shamefully. His finger tightened on the butt of the gun and he had to fight down the urge to kill this slime here and now. Even in his rage, however, he couldn't kill a helpless man and he resolved to deal with the man later. At the moment, he had much more important things to think about than revenge.   
He started to raise the ladder out of the way, when he head a faint sound from the attic.   
“Face?”   
He had one foot on the lowest rung, preparing to investigate the noise, when he heard his Lieutenant's voice and realised two things instantly: one: that whoever was in the room above, wasn't his Lieutenant; and two: something was very wrong, Face's yell wasn't controlled - he was in danger.  
“Face,” he called, then swore as Murdock pushed past him and ran down the hallway.  
“Murdock...wait...” he hissed.   
The Captain didn't hear; half crazy with worry and self loathing, the long-legged pilot hurtled towards the room from which the sound of a struggle could now plainly be heard and all Smith could do was race after him.  
Without waiting for Hannibal, Murdock hurled himself at the closed door, bursting it open and stumbled into the dark room.   
Crouched on his heels, one hand braced against the floor for the few moments it took for his eyes to adjust, the pilot saw the shapes of two figures silhouetted against the faint moonlight coming through the dirty window pane.  
Behind him, Smith arrived with the torch, the powerful beam revealing the drama being carried out. The man called Benny, had Peck backed up against the wall beside the window; one hand was gripping the Lieutenant's throat, the other raised to batter him with the gun. Both of Peck's hands were wrapped around the upraised wrist, fighting to keep the gun form being used either as a club, or fired. He couldn't see either his friends, nor his assailant, but he'd heard the door being burst open and knew that help was on the way, if he could only hold on.  
“Face,” Murdock yelled. Leaping like a runner out of the starting blocks, straight at the two figures locked together, he tried to pull the mobster away from his friend. He managed to drag Benny`s hand away from Peck's throat and they were fighting for the gun as Hannibal reached them.  
The two tall men were fighting so desperately that Smith couldn't reach his partner who was slumped against the window, hands braced against the glass. Then as Murdock hit out at Benny, the mobster staggered back to avoid the blow and cannoned into Peck.  
The glass was old and fragile and shattered with a loud crack, as the combined weight of the two men pressed against it.  
“FACE! NO!” Sudden ice cut into the Colonel's heart as he reached out trying to grab his Lieutenant.  
His fingers managed to catch a handful of sweater, but it was torn out of his grasp as the two men fell out onto the steep sloping roof of the boathouse.  
Heedless of the broken glass, Smith was frantically trying to get out of the window, when he felt Murdock grab his arm.  
“Hang on to me, Hannibal,” gasped the pilot, stretching as far as he could, anchoring his leader as the older man scrambled down the roof as fast as he could, but it was too late. His blue eyes wide with shock, he saw the slender form of his lover roll beyond his reach, straight over the edge, following the screaming Benny into the dark.  
The split second before a loud splash revealed the falling men's destination was the longest that either Hannibal or Murdock had ever experienced.  
Murdock was clinging to Hannibal's wrist, as Smith moved further down the roof. “Wait, Colonel, I'll jump...it`s my fault...” He cried, knowing what was in Smith's mind and already half out of the window.  
“No, Captain, you aren't as good a swimmer.” Smith was amazed at how steady his voice sounded, when his whole life had just disappeared into the darkness of a cold lake.  
“But...it was my fault...” Murdock hung on, his cold fingers beginning to slip.  
“Captain!” Smith's voice snapped the pilot out of his horror-stricken daze. “Get back down to B.A. Get some light...the water is deep enough here to swim...GO!”  
With a groan, Murdock released his grasp and watched Smith slide down the roof, pause at the edge, then jump into the moonlit water.  
He forced himself back through the window and muttering softly to himself, stumbled downstairs to find Baracus.

The water was cold and took Smith's first breath away; gasping he trod water and looked around, finding his bearings.   
“Face,” he called, hoping to hear an instant reply, but only the night sounds of the lake could be heard; the slapping of water against the wooden side of the boathouse and in the distance, the mournful cry of a hunting owl.  
After an agonised minute, which felt like hours, a splashing to his right brought his head round and he started to swim towards it, hoping that it was his Lieutenant.  
It was Benny: coughing, spluttering and thrashing the water “I can't swim...” he gurgled. “Help.”   
He grabbed at Smith, kicking and yelling hysterically and the Colonel was dragged under the water, almost choking from the mobster`s tight grip. Kicking out savagely Hannibal broke free and shot to the surface. Reaching out, he grasped the struggling man's shoulder as Benny surfaced beside him and tried to turn him on to his back to float him, but the panic-stricken man lunged for him again. Hannibal backed off, and treading water a few feet away snapped: “Keep still, or we'll both drown.”  
Smith felt like leaving him, but unlike his enemies, he wasn't a cold-blooded killer and couldn't let the mobster drown.  
“Help...please...I can`t...” Benny went under again.  
Smith sighed and grabbed the terrified man`s hair, dragging him to the surface. As Benny grappled for him again, Smith clipped him once on the jaw as hard as he could from his awkward position and felt the man go limp.  
Supporting the mobster, Smith again shouted his lover's name, listening intently for any sound, but apart from a faint splashing which could have been a water bird, there was nothing to give him a direction.  
A bobbing light from the direction of the house and the welcome sound of his sergeant’s shout: “Hang on Hannibal,” preceded the sound of a heavy body hitting the water; moments later, amidst a ripple of wavelets, Baracus arrived beside him.  
Reaching out for his Colonel's burden, B.A. asked. “You got him?”   
“No,” Smith said, “just this bag of manure...he can't swim...” he explained briefly, handing the unconscious man over to Baracus. “Get him to shore, B.A. then see if you can get a boat - and more light. We have to find Face.”  
Baracus opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again as Smith, begrudging every second away from his search, swam off, shouting for their lieutenant.   
On the bank Murdock was hanging on tightly to his self control. He wanted to yell and kick out at the injustice of it all. Where was Face?   
In the light from his torch and the strengthening moon, he saw an edge of white foam as B.A. swam towards him towing something...or someone...  
“You got Face?” he called, leaning over the edge of the dock.  
“No...” spluttered B.A. continuing on towards where the bank shelved enough for him to drag his burden out.  
He pushed the recovering Benny out onto the wet mud and pulled himself up and sat beside the mobster, catching his breath from the cold water and the exertion.  
“Where`s Hannibal?” cried Murdock, running towards him, panic clearly audible in his tone.  
“Still looking for Face,” panted Baracus, as he pulled a piece of rope from his sodden overalls and tied Benny`s hands together behind his back.  
“Oh God! Face!” yelled Murdock, swinging the torch over the dark water.  
He started to run along the curve of the bank splashing in the shallows which lapped among the long reeds, uncaring of the danger of falling into deeper water as he searched for any sign of the missing man.  
Suddenly he stopped, his friend's name frozen to his lips, as he saw a dark form huddled on the bank.  
“Face?” he croaked. Running forward he bent and pulled at the outline of a shoulder, turning the body over. Tendrils of fair hair floating among the dark green of the reeds identified the form of his missing friend.  
“HANNIBAL!” yelled Murdock, joy and concern fighting for supremacy.  
Pulling Face out onto the bank where he could see better, Murdock knelt in the mud and cradled Peck in his arms, eager fingers pressed into the unmoving man's throat, feeling desperately for a pulse.   
He couldn't find one.   
Slapping his friend's cold cheeks, the pilot cried. “Face, come on...wake up, Face...”  
Still no movement. Murdock gulped back a sob, glancing round for help. Baracus was coming towards him, lantern swinging from his hand, but Murdock suddenly knew it was up to him.   
Forgotten lessons coming to the forefront of his frantic mind, he laid the limp form flat and pulled the wet, fair head back. Tipping his friend's chin upward, he placed his lips over the cold ones of his friend and started CPR, his warm breath forcing air into the uncooperative chest below him.  
B.A. arrived at a stumbling run and bent to help the pilot, his large strong hands pressing into Face's chest as he counted the seconds, while Murdock continued breathing for his friend.  
Working together the sergeant and pilot kept up their frantic but regular rhythm until they were rewarded by a faint cough, then a deeper one as Face turned his head feebly, vomiting lake water from his burning lungs.  
Murdock patted him gently on the back, his mind beginning to calm in what seemed an age, as BA rolled their friend onto his side; both men relieved beyond measure at the successful outcome of their combined endeavours.  
Hannibal, meanwhile, was trying to subdue the panic in his heart, swimming frantically in a large circle, pausing to shout his partner's name. As he plowed through the water, he clung desperately to the knowledge that Face was an excellent swimmer and with any luck would be okay. He knew, however, falling into water from a height wasn't the safest way of taking a moonlight swim, what if Face had been hurt when he hit the water.  
As he paused to shout again, he heard the pilot's frantic yell and saw him pulling at something in the shallows and with hope and fear vying for top billing, struck out swiftly for the bank.  
It seemed to take him an eternity to reach it, but eventually he felt the lake bottom shelve close to the spot where his men were huddled together and Smith was able to stagger forward, his eyes never leaving the tableau on the bank.   
In the added light cast by B.A.'s lantern and the torch which Murdock had stuck in the mud, he saw the tall form of his flyer and the heavier outline of Baracus bending over his partner's body and prayed for them to succeed in their attempts at resuscitation.  
Then his sergeant waded forward and grasping his leader's forearm, yanked him the remaining few yards over the mud and reeds.  
Murdock glanced up, the strain evident on his pale features but he gave his commander a faint smile and nodded: “Okay Hannibal. He's okay.”  
Those were some of the sweetest words Hannibal had ever heard and he sank down beside his coughing partner and reached for Murdock and B.A.'s hands.   
“Thank you, Murdock...you too B.A. I thought... thought...” He shook his head slightly, spraying his companions with water droplets.  
The pilot nodded, understanding all too well the agonising thoughts which had swept through his leader's mind and heart, then suddenly he began to shake with the aftermath of fear, tension and cold.  
Baracus grunted, giving his leader's fingers a firm clasp before releasing them, then took charge of the proceedings.   
“Come on, let's get back and dried off... we don't want nobody getting pneumonia.”  
He bent down and gently lifted the weakly spluttering lieutenant into his arms and strode off towards the house, leaving the two senior officers looking after him with surprise.  
Numbly watching the burly figure stride away, the Colonel and the pilot glanced at each other, both men shaking with relief and the effects of cold water and the night air.  
“Boy,” declared Murdock admiringly. ”When the Big Guy takes charge, there ain't no stopping him.”  
He got to his feet and wrapped his arms around his chest as he glanced down at Smith sitting in the mud, the older man's wet hair striking silver sparks in the fitful moonbeams.   
“I'm freezing and I'm not as wet as you are.” Leaning down he put a hand under Hannibal's arm to help him up. “Come on, Colonel. Time for a little r an` r.”  
Smith hung back, trying to catch his breath and allow his heart to slow down. He could afford the luxury of a moment's rest, now that he knew all the members of his Team were safe. After a couple of minutes, he raised his hand and allowed the pilot to help him to his feet. Leaning on each other for support, they followed their sergeant back to the relative comfort of the house and some dry clothes.  
Fifteen minutes later the Team members were gathered together in the back of the van, B.A. having opted for the nearest haven in case they had to move their injured comrade. The lieutenant had a bloody bruise on his right temple, where his head had come into violent contact with the guttering as he'd rolled over the edge of the boathouse roof. The wound, although superficial, had been enough to knock him out for a few moments and was the cause of his near drowning. He'd inhaled a fair amount of lake water before managing to struggle weakly towards a shore he couldn't see, but had been able to find through sheer luck.  
Hannibal held Peck's hand, thankful to feel the pulse thudding in his wrist, real evidence that his lover was alive and hopeful that they could have a respite from the stress of the last few hours.  
He was still trembling inwardly at the realisation of how near he'd come to losing his soul-mate and knew in his heart, if that had happened, he'd have just let the lake take him, that way at least he would've been as close to his lover as possible.  
He heard Murdock say something and lifted his head: “Hm, what'd you say Murdock?”  
“I was saying perhaps we could go back to the cabin, there's more heat and light there,” suggested the pilot.  
Smith thought for a second, then feeling the cold dampness of his own clothes seeping into his bones, nodded. “Yeah, I think that would be best. B.A?”  
Baracus was already sliding under the steering wheel. “Okay Hannibal, we're practically there.”  
During the short journey back to their former residence, Smith held Peck's hand, stroking it gently, never taking his eyes from the pale face and half-closed eyes.  
“Tem, how d'you feel?”  
Peck heard the concern in his lover's voice and knew he should respond, but couldn't find the energy. His head was aching badly, he was soaking wet, his lungs were still burning - and he was scared.  
Smith's voice asked again. “Tem, can you hear me?”  
The wet blond head dipped a fraction in assent. ”Give...me...a minute...” came breathlessly, with pauses between each word.  
“Okay,” Hannibal was only a little relieved. “We're going back to the cabin.”   
The dark eyebrows drew together in a slight frown. “Cabin?”  
“Yes, Facie,” put in Murdock who was leaning towards his friends. “Our lovely little cabin, with the wooden sun-deck an’ all.”  
“Oh, yes...” murmured Face drowsily. “I like that cabin...” His long lashes closed over unseeing eyes.  
“Tem. Wake up!” Hannibal ordered sharply, afraid of allowing his lover to slide into slumber after such an experience.  
The sea-green eyes shot open in shock, then blinked tiredly. “Not asleep,” he protested weakly.  
“Good....that's good,” the relieved Colonel said.  
Just then the van slewed sharply as Baracus took a bend faster than he should've done, sending his passengers sprawling into each other.  
“Sorry, guys,” came the terse apology.  
After a few moments sorting themselves out, Smith asked again. “How'd you feel, Tem?”  
There was a short pause as Face debated telling the truth that he felt like hell, then rallying a little, he answered: “Wet!”   
Murdock, from his seat beside his friend, snorted softly. “You can say that again, muchacho, in fact we are ALL very wet.”   
He fought the urge to laugh aloud, knowing that once started, it would disintegrate into hysterics so scared had he been; that was the last thing that any of them needed at the moment.  
Smith managed a faint grin, but he was far from feeling humorous.  
Things had gone drastically wrong and although they had improved, it had still been a close call. He still had to think what to do about the numerous bodies lying around the house and grounds.  
His first priority however - as always - was the health and well-being of his men, the scumballs would have to take their turn.  
“How's your head, kid?” he asked softly, one hand brushing the wet hair from Peck's blood-streaked forehead.  
“Aching,” was the short reply, then added with obvious effort, “Is it still on my shoulders?”  
“Just about,” his leader confirmed.  
Murdock leaned forward putting a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, bursting with guilt. “Facie, I’m so sorry...it was all my fault. If I hadn't knocked that guy over, you'd never have fallen through the window... and into the lake... and I'm so very, very sorry.”  
The pilot's voice caught in a sob and he bit his lip, but his hand continued to pat Peck's wet shoulder.  
“Whoa...whoa...what window? What guy?” asked Peck, his brow creasing in an attempt to remember.  
Smith looked over at his pilot, frowning slightly. “You don't remember falling through the window?” he asked carefully.  
“Not really,” Peck’s fingers came up to rub his brow. “I seem to remember fighting with someone though.”  
“Don't worry, it'll all come back eventually,” Smith said more cheerfully than he felt.  
“I guess so,” murmured Face, shifting uncomfortably in his wet clothes. “Are we nearly there?”  
“B.A.?” Smith asked.  
“Be `bout five minutes, Colonel.”

In just under the five minute deadline, the van pulled into the parking space beside the cabin they'd rented earlier.  
Telling Murdock to stay in the vehicle with Peck, Smith and Baracus drew their weapons and separated, checking the cabin and surrounding area with the competent skill of two well-trained combat veterans.   
Ten minutes later they were pulling back the doors of the van to allow the others to descend.  
“All clear,” said Smith cheerfully. “Let's get into some dry clothes and maybe something to eat, eh Face?”  
“I'm not hungry,” came the quiet reply, “not right now, anyway,” he added, feeling his reply had been a trifle churlish.  
All he really wanted to do was lie down in a warm, dry bed and sleep away this headache pounding between his eyes.  
“Right,” agreed Smith as he helped Peck step down and guided his younger partner into the relative warmth of the cabin.

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER THREE  
T.ROUBLES (C)


End file.
